


May We Stay Lost On Our Way Home

by orphan_account



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe - Alice in Wonderland, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Angst, Blood and Gore, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fairies, M/M, Magic, Minor Character Death, Nonsense, Recreational Drug Use, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-15
Updated: 2014-08-15
Packaged: 2018-02-11 17:23:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 40,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2076582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur has always been a logical thinker. He’s a computer scientist who approaches situations with reason and rational thought. When Arthur runs after a man and tries to save him from committing suicide, the last thing he expects is to end up in a fantasy land where nothing makes sense, and everything is illogical.</p><p>Arthur isn't sure whether he's dreaming or not, but when he meets the man again in this new world, the only way out seems to be by playing along.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. If I Should Die Tonight

**Author's Note:**

> A bit of an Alice in Wonderland AU written for the [After Camlann Big Bang](http://aftercamlann.livejournal.com/) at livejournal. All the wonderful, amazing art is by [Merlocked18](http://merlocked18.livejournal.com/), so give her lots of love on her [art masterpost](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2098542) ♥ Many thanks to [argentsleeper](http://argentsleeper.livejournal.com/) for the wonderful beta :)
> 
> (Also, there's some NSFW art embedded, so read with caution.)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So she was considering…whether the pleasure of making a daisy-chain would be worth the trouble of getting up and picking the daisies, when suddenly a White Rabbit with pink eyes ran close by her.” 
> 
> \- Lewis Carroll, _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland_

_Sodding weather_ , Arthur thought bitterly as he wiped sweat from his upper lip. _Can’t pick a season, can it? Has to be winter one day and summer the next. I knew I should have worn the black cotton top._

It didn’t help that the Underground had been crammed full of people as usual and Arthur had felt more than a little claustrophobic. He’d been sweating through his shirt since he stepped into the carriage, and walking the last few streets to his office building in the blazing sun wasn’t much better.

It wasn’t that the temperature had got any higher than normal for a London summer, but rather that there was hardly a breeze, and not a cloud in the sky to provide the least bit of relief. Arthur would be subconsciously worrying about armpit stains the entire day.

 _Maybe there’ll be a meeting_ , he hoped as he neared the building. The conference room was always the same temperature as Antarctica, which was unbearable on any other day, but would be a blessing today.

He was just about to the pull open the glass door when another hand reached out to do the same. Arthur paused, looking at the owner of the hand, and found him to be a dark-haired bloke with deep blue eyes and sharp, angular features. Despite the hard lines of his jaw, cheekbones, and nose, his lips and smooth complexion made him appear rather gentle. Arthur felt for a moment as though he’d frightened some gaunt forest creature, especially given the way the man’s eyes looked wild and taken off-guard.

The pause had dragged on much too long, both of them awkwardly wondering who would grab hold of the door handle first, so Arthur took it upon himself, reaching out once again and pulling the door open.

“After you,” he said with a polite smile. The man’s lips did an odd twitching dance as he stepped into the building, like they were caught between a frown and a smile.

Arthur fully expected their encounter to end there, because he suspected the young man was there for an interview and consequently extremely nervous. He did not expect the young man to suddenly spin around and speak to him in a voice that trembled as much as his plump, twitchy lips.

“D-Do you know how many st-storeys this building is?” he asked.

Arthur furrowed his brow slightly. “Sixteen, I believe.” He quirked his mouth up into a wry smile. “Why, are you thinking of working here? I can tell you right now it’s not very rewarding.”

The man simply blinked stupidly a few seconds, as though Arthur hadn’t spoken at all. Arthur was beginning to wonder if this man was timid _and_ daft, in which case he really _oughtn’t_ to work there. The longer the man went without replying, the more Arthur’s half-smile faded, until it wasn’t there at all, replaced with an expression of curiosity and a bit of annoyance.

At last, the man seemed to come back to his senses, forcing his eyes upward to meet Arthur’s. “Sixteen,” he echoed. “Sixteen. Okay. No, thank you, I’ll just—”

He reached into the pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out an envelope, shoving it into Arthur’s chest with so much sudden force that Arthur was pushed back a step. Arthur raised a hand to keep the envelope in place instinctively, looking down at it in confusion.

Before Arthur could ask what the hell it was for, the man took off towards the lifts. Arthur stared dumbly a few seconds, then did the only reasonable thing he could think to do next—open the envelope.

Inside was a key and, Arthur was surprised to note, a cheque. He glanced at the amount, gaped, and gaped even more when he saw the payee line left blank. The man—Merlin Emrys, according to the cheque—was just _giving_ him all of this? Who even did that? Just because he’d told him how many storeys the building had?

But there was another paper inside as well, which presumably held some sort of explanation. Arthur took the folded paper out, leaving the key and cheque inside, and put the envelope deep into his trouser pocket before reading the letter.

 

_You are the very lucky recipient of everything I own because you are the first person to smile at me. The key is to my flat, which is located at the address written on the back of this letter. Thank you for being a wonderful human._

 

Arthur thought it was a joke at first, maybe some sort of scam. He read the three sentences three times over, not understanding why or how anyone could do something so selfless. Unless…unless this was some kind of…

Arthur bolted for the lift, hoping it wasn’t true, that this wasn’t really happening to him. But it made too much sense. The timidness, the trembling fingers and twitching lips, the uneven speech and wild look in his eyes…It made sense no matter how badly Arthur didn’t want it to. The man had asked how many _storeys_ the building was for Christ’s sake. Because he wanted to…Oh God, because he was going to…

Arthur shoved his way past people to get onto the lift, not caring one whit about the odd looks he received. But too many people were stopping at too many floors, and it was going so _slow_. Arthur got out on the eleventh floor and ran for the stairs, hoping he wasn’t too late.

Maybe the door to the roof would be locked. There had to be safety precautions or protocols for that kind of thing, right? You couldn’t just go up to the roof if you weren’t part of the maintenance staff or anything, could you?

Arthur didn’t know, because he’d honestly never tried. Who would? It was just an office building, somewhere people dragged themselves to day in and day out to work. There was no reason to go to the roof. And if _he_ thought that way, chances were the people in charge of maintaining the building thought that way, too.

Finally, his lungs and legs about to give out from the climb, Arthur reached the door marked “Roof Access.” It was unlocked.

 _Please don’t let me be too late, please don’t let me be too late._ Arthur wouldn’t be able to live with himself if this man died and he could have stopped it.

The man hadn’t jumped yet. He was still standing on the edge, not looking down, but rather straight ahead, his hands clenching and unclenching into fists. Arthur forced his aching legs to propel him forward, feeling a bit like he was in a dream where no matter how quickly he tried to run, it was never quick enough.

Arthur was so focused on just _getting_ to the man that he forgot he could use his voice as well. But by the time Arthur shouted “Stop!”, the man had already rose to the tips of his toes and started falling forward.

“ _No!_ ”

Arthur dove without a second thought, springing up off his right foot and extending his arms out to reach for the man just centimetres within his grasp. His extra push sent him over the edge, and Arthur curled his fingers to grip the man’s jacket as soon as he was able. He used his hold to wrap his arms around him, clutching him to his chest and somehow managing to roll their bodies midair. He’d done it!

And then he realised _ohshitwe’restillfalling._

_Fuck, I really didn’t think this through._

As Arthur squeezed his eyes shut and buried his face in the man’s hair, waiting for the inevitable impact, he thought, _At least the breeze feels nice._


	2. Feels Like I Am Falling Down A Rabbit Hole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “In another moment, down Alice went after it, never once considering how in the world she was to get out again.” 
> 
> \- Lewis Carroll, _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland_

The first thing Arthur became aware of was the sound of a waterfall. Even with his eyes still closed, he furrowed his brow in confusion.

That couldn’t be right, could it? A waterfall in London?

Maybe it was raining particularly hard outside. But then, Arthur could feel a light air current brushing over his skin, and he could smell the sweetness of earth as though he were right in the thick of nature, so that ruled out that possibility. Arthur was most certainly outside, and it was not raining.

Maybe it was one of those artificial waterfalls in front of corporate buildings. His own office building didn’t have that, but maybe…

No, that line of thinking wasn’t even logical. And now that more of Arthur’s senses were coming to him, he could feel that the surface he was currently laying flat on was rather firm, and cold, like stone.

Arthur opened his eyes.

The first thing he saw was the cloudless sky above him, light blue without a hint of any other colours or interruptions. He cast his gaze to his left and saw the source of the dull roaring that had awoken him, a small waterfall not far off, with a pool of clear water below it. The rock on which he lay, in fact, appeared to be right in the middle of said body of water, raised above the waterline and therefore not at all wet on the surface.

Arthur was almost too scared to look to his right, but there was no avoiding it forever. He turned his head to the right.

Arthur gasped at the sight before him, hardly believing his eyes. It was as though he’d stepped out of reality and into a fantasy book. The greens were so green, the reds so red, the purples so _purple_. Everything was teeming with life, every centimetre absolutely lush with it. Arthur pushed himself up, wanting to view it from an upright position.

It wasn’t a jungle or a forest, because there weren’t nearly enough trees. Actually, there appeared to be a rock face on either side of him, rising high into the sky and making the location feel a bit like a natural corridor. Perhaps he was between two mountains or cliffs of some sort.

But if it wasn’t a jungle, it also wasn’t just some place with exotic flowers and vines and moss. Arthur didn’t know what to call it. A glade? A vale?

Arthur got to his feet. There were more rocks leading from the centre of the pool he was in to the rest of the vale—yes, vale definitely seemed an appropriate name for it—and he cautiously walked to the edge. It wasn’t a far jump to the other rock, but Arthur didn’t much fancy getting his clothes all wet.

Then Arthur looked down and realised just what he was wearing. His brown trousers cut off halfway down his calves, nearly covering the top of a pair of black, buckled boots. His shirt was much like the one he wore to work each day, a button-down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, but was a deep, cerulean blue, certainly not the white he usually preferred. And to top it all off—something he never would have even _considered_ wearing—were white braces attached to his trousers, holding them up.

 _What in the world?_ Arthur thought. _Either I’m dreaming or...No, best not to think like that._

Arthur sighed. He supposed he should explore whatever this place was, heaven or dream world. He took a few steps back before running and jumping to the next rock. Luckily, the distance shortened after that, and it was simply a matter of stretching his legs far enough. He made it to the grassy shore with ease.

The corridor-like structure of the place made it so the only way to go was forward. Arthur started walking, touching everything from velvety-looking violets to red moss on the occasional tree. He wasn’t the only living thing here—he saw frogs and butterflies from time to time as well. There were even things that looked like...Well, even in a dream world, Arthur wasn’t inclined to believe in faeries.

As Arthur ventured deeper in, he wondered what had happened to the suicidal bloke from before. What had his name been again? The cheque had said Merlin, right? Really, it was just Arthur’s luck to end up in this sort of situation after trying to save someone named Merlin.

Arthur was just thinking that this place was rather lonely when he caught sight of a pair of golden eyes looking down at him from up in a tree. He stopped, not sure if he should be frightened. Wherever he was, it most certainly was not real, so there was no way anything could hurt him. But he’d not seen any creature nearly so large as the eyes up in the tree indicated, and he couldn’t help his heart beating a little faster.

His pulse started racing when the eyes began to get closer. He‘d expected a body to emerge from the darkness of the tree’s foliage, but was shocked when the eyes— _only_ the eyes—moved instead. Arthur stepped back as the golden eyes glided down to him, too stunned to do anything competent, like running.

As if disembodied eyes weren’t bad enough, the rest of the creature’s form shimmered into existence then, and Arthur saw that it was a dragon, its long, serpentine body floating on the wind at chest-level. Its bronze scales glistened in the sunlight, and its nostrils flared, puffing smoke as its lips spread in a wide, toothy grin.

Arthur hadn’t even thought dragons _could_ grin, but then, it wasn’t like he spent a lot of time thinking about dragons. The longer Arthur stayed still, frozen with shock and fear, the more the dragon’s expression seemed to be amused.

Well, Arthur wasn’t going to have that. He was already lost and worried about possibly being dead, and the last thing he needed was some cheeky dragon grinning at him as though he were an endearingly daft child. This was _his_ dream anyway, and who did this dragon think he was, floating down from trees to creep out perfectly respectable people like Arthur?

So Arthur raised his hands and waved them around, shooing him away.

The dragon stopped grinning then, opening its mouth wide and breathing fire. Arthur pulled his hands back, crying out from the sharp lick of flames on his fingers. He gaped at his hands in shock, as though they’d betrayed him.

They weren’t burnt badly—hardly at all. The fire had been just far enough away to prevent serious injury. But still, it was disconcerting to know that apparently he _could_ feel pain.

“That wasn’t very polite, was it?” the dragon said, surprising Arthur again. “Don’t you have any manners?”

Arthur gaped. “I have plenty of manners! I have all manner of manners!”

“Yes, but none that are very good,” the dragon observed.

Arthur wasn’t going to stand there and be insulted by a talking dragon in his own dream. He dropped his hands and huffed, brushing past the smiling dragon angrily.

Then he realised that he’d come to a fork, the vale splitting off into two paths that both looked the same. For the sake of maintaining his angry momentum, he arbitrarily picked left, storming off that way.

But what if he came to something he didn’t like this way? What if right was the right way?

Arthur spun on his heel and started the opposite direction, ignoring the grin that was quickly becoming a smirk on the dragon’s face.

But what if…Arthur heaved a sigh and walked back, marching up to the dragon still floating by the tree and demanded, “Alright, which way do _you_ think I should go?”

“That depends on where you want to get to.”

“I don’t care where—”

“Then it doesn’t matter which way you go.”

“—so long as I get _somewhere_.”

“You’re sure to do that if you only walk long enough.”

Arthur sighed in exasperation, partly wishing he’d never asked at all if the dragon was just going to be cryptic. He hoped the answer to his next question was much more substantial.

“What is this place?”

“This is Albion, land of magic and wonder, though more recently more wonder than magic. I wonder why that is.”

Arthur decided that yes, he was dreaming, though at this point it was becoming a nightmare.

“Okay, where do each of the paths lead?”

The dragon flicked his tail to the left. “That way lives a Warlock.” He flicked his tail to the right. “That way lives a Dragon. Visit either you like; they’re both mad.”

“I don’t want to visit any mad… _things_.”

“Oh you can’t help that. We’re all mad here. I’m mad. You’re mad.”

“I’m not mad!” Arthur exclaimed.

“You must be, or you wouldn’t have come here.”

Arthur frowned. He supposed there was a bit of truth to that. He’d only been trying to save that Merlin bloke from jumping off the building, and now he was...Well, he was wherever Albion was.

“Every adventure requires a first step,” the dragon said encouragingly, bursting through Arthur’s thoughts. “Trite, but true, even here.”

“Fine, I’ll go left then,” Arthur declared. “I’ve certainly had enough of talking dragons for the moment.”

Arthur started walking purposefully down the left path, not bothering to look back over his shoulder, even when he heard the dragon say, “You’ll see me there.”

~ ~ ~

Arthur didn’t know how long he’d been walking, but it felt like a long time. He guessed that nearly half an hour had passed when the rock walls on either side of him began to slope outward and he entered a forest.

The thickness of the trees nearly blocked out the sun, and the path he walked was speckled with what little sunlight managed to pierce through the green canopy overhead. He hoped he would get to this Warlock soon, and he hoped they proved to be at least somewhat sane so they could tell him how to wake up.

Maybe they were even attractive and wouldn’t mind having a go with him. That probably wasn’t likely to happen, but if this was a dream, Arthur had to dream big. He might as well enjoy himself if he was stuck here—there were no real consequences in dreams.

He was still pondering what the Warlock might be like and how he’d found himself in this situation when he realised suddenly that there was a rectangle of light ahead. He quickened his pace and as he came closer he saw that it was a curtain of vines, hanging from the trees like a makeshift door. He pulled it back and peered through, the sudden rush of sunlight making him squint.

When the black dots stopped dancing across his vision, he saw a long table in the centre of a clearing with an abundance of table-settings laid out, and three people seated at the far end. He was surprised to notice that the man sitting at the head of the table, feet propped up and leaning back in his chair as he sipped a cup of tea, was none other than _Merlin_.

And Merlin was laughing! He looked positively vibrant for someone who was so meek and soft-spoken before. He seemed to radiate confidence, and appeared entirely at ease in this world that Arthur couldn’t even begin to understand.

Like Arthur, Merlin wasn’t wearing his ordinary clothes. He wore a black and white striped top, the sleeves of which came down and nearly covered his hands. His grey waistcoat had a faint golden trim around the edges, as did his black trousers and boots. But the most prominent of his attire was the absolutely ridiculous large black and white check hat that sat upon a wild, unruly head of thick black hair, making his already large ears seem even larger.

At noticing Merlin, Arthur had taken a few more steps into the clearing before stopping. Merlin wasn’t alone at the table. Arthur now shifted his gaze to the others.

On Merlin’s left was a woman wearing a shimmering pink dress. She was nearly bald except for the shock of brown hair at the top of her head. Arthur couldn’t see her face yet, because her back was to him, but he could see the gossamer blue wings that fluttered every now and then. Was she some sort of oversized faerie?

The person on Merlin’s right appeared to be an ordinary man, but his nose was turned down a little and his ears were a bit pointy, making him look most decidedly like a mouse. He also appeared to be sleeping, despite the volume of Merlin’s laughter, and had his head resting on his arms.

Arthur hesitantly walked the rest of the way into the clearing, sitting down at the table beside the faerie-looking woman when it seemed as though Merlin wouldn’t notice him otherwise.

Before Arthur could get out a “ _Hello Merlin, do you have any idea where we are or how we got here?”_  the faerie woman turned to him and said encouragingly, “Have some wine.”

Arthur glanced around. He hadn’t seen any wine when he’d been studying the table earlier, only tea and biscuits. Lots of tea and biscuits.

“I don’t see any,” he said.

“There isn’t any.”

Arthur scowled. “So why’d you offer?”

She shrugged. “I never offered you a place at my table and yet you’ve taken that.”

“Oh don’t be so unpleasant, Mab,” Merlin said as he sipped his tea.

“I wasn’t aware it was your table,” Arthur told the faerie whose name was apparently Mab. “And anyway, there’s plenty of room for more than three.”

Merlin waved a listless hand in the air. “It’s not anyone’s table. It’s everyone’s table. And why should a table belong to anyone in the first place? Why can’t a table be its own table? The poor, unrepresented table!” he exclaimed.

Mab giggled gleefully, though Arthur was a bit stuck on the fact that Merlin was evidently just as odd as everyone else here. There went his hope of finding someone with which to hold a rational conversation.

“The tables in my tower are all treated fairly and given equal rights,” Merlin continued with a firm nod of his head.

“What about the chairs?” Mab asked.

“Oh the chairs can kiss my arse.”

Mab laughed delightedly again, a high, tinkling sound.

Arthur leaned forward a bit, interested in this new piece of information. “What tower?” he asked. “Do you mean to say you actually live here?”

Merlin suddenly dropped his legs from the table and jumped on top of it, upsetting a teapot and making it spill onto the cloth. Arthur flinched backward, the abrupt and unexpected action making him tense up.

On the table, Merlin was pointing over the top of the trees on the far side of the clearing. “That’s my tower over there,” he declared. He lowered his eyes to Arthur. “Stand up and have a proper look. It’s a beautiful tower.”

Arthur got to his feet and turned to face the other side of the clearing. He could indeed make out the spire of a tower over the trees.

“ _No_ ,” Merlin insisted, “Get up here and have a _proper_ look.”

Arthur eyed the crowded table hesitantly. Where would he even put his feet? Merlin didn’t really mean for him to get up there with him, did he?

It seemed Merlin did. He waved his hand encouragingly, obviously with a touch of impatience. Arthur braced his hands on the table, raised his foot, and hoisted himself up. He wasn’t up but a second before Merlin grabbed his sleeve and pulled him over, making more tea spill and dishes fall off as he stumbled.

Merlin pointed again. “See? You can make out more of it from up here. It’s really a wonderful tower, inside, out, under, above, and sideways.”

Arthur didn’t see much that was special about it. It was certainly grand, Arthur would give him that, but it was just a regular old grey tower with the occasional window. Perhaps the inside was more interesting.

The mousy man woke up briefly to say, “Yes, wonderful, now would you please get off the table?”

Merlin stuck his tongue out at him, but jumped down and took his seat again. As Merlin poured himself a new cup of tea, Arthur descended as well.

“Why live in a tower?” he asked. “Why not a perfectly decent house?”

Merlin propped his feet on the table again, taking up his old position sipping his tea before replying, “Where else would a warlock live? _Not_ in a tower?”

Arthur gaped in surprise. “ _You’re_ the Warlock?”

Merlin threw his arms in the air, his cup of tea sent flying, as he grinned and shouted, “I’m the Warlock!”

Mab clapped happily, and Merlin leaned forward to pour himself yet another cup.

Arthur didn’t think he really needed to say his next statement, given that last bit of behaviour, but he continued anyway. “A dragon told me the Warlock was mad.”

“He is,” Merlin said, unperturbed. “The Warlock is absolutely raving. In fact, they call him the Mad Warlock.”

 _Right_ , Arthur thought. _Of course they do._

Arthur nearly jumped out of his chair when said dragon from before faded into existence in the seat across from him. The others, however, didn’t seem put off by his sudden appearance.

“Oh hello, Kilgharrah,” Merlin said. “This man here was just talking about you. I think. Perhaps he meant the other dragon.”

The dragon—Kilgharrah, apparently—only grinned. He looked like he was about to flicker into invisibility again, but flickered back.

“You look terribly puzzled,” Mab said to Arthur. She placed a cup of tea in front of him. “Here, take some more tea.”

“I’ve had nothing, so I can’t take more,” he replied. He took the tea all the same, sipping it and finding it to his liking.

“You mean you can’t take _less_ ,” Merlin said. “It’s very easy to take _more_ than nothing.”

Arthur supposed he was right, and really, at this point he ought to stop questioning things and just go with it. He drank from his cup, keeping his eyes averted from the smiling dragon across from him, but feeling its gaze on him uncomfortably.

“Right, so, if you’re the Mad Warlock, who are these two?” Arthur asked after a short period of silence.

Merlin thrust his arm out to his left. “This is Mab, Queen of the Faeries. And this—”

Arthur interrupted, saying, “The faeries I’ve seen have all been small. At least I think they were faeries. I honestly didn’t get close enough to look.”

“Mab is the Queen, why shouldn’t she be a bit larger?” Merlin countered.

“That doesn’t really make sense.”

Merlin scoffed. “What does sense have to do with anything? If I had a world of my own, everything would be nonsense.”

Arthur couldn’t possibly imagine what good a world like _that_ would be, especially considering everything he’d seen of Albion so far hadn’t made any sense, and if anything, it only made him want to leave.

Satisfied with Mab’s introduction, Merlin moved on to the mousy man, who was still sleeping. He thrust his other arm out and said, “This is William, Lord of the Wilddeoren.”

“What are wilddeoren?”

“Dreadful creatures, really,” Mab explained. “Large, smelly rodents that live in the Andorian Mountains. They used to feed on human flesh, but under Will’s leadership they’ve quite changed their ways.”

This place only got stranger and stranger. Arthur hoped he wasn’t stuck here forever, especially if there were such things as flesh-eating rats and talking dragons that stared and smiled. He couldn’t understand how Merlin was so comfortable here.

And what was more, did Merlin remember any of the real world like Arthur did? He hadn’t even seemed surprised to see Arthur when Arthur had sat at the table.

“What about you?” Merlin startled Arthur out of his thoughts by asking. “You must be new here if you have all these questions. What’s your name?”

“Oh.” Arthur had forgot that he’d never introduced himself to Merlin, both here and in reality. “I’m Arthur.”

Merlin smiled at him, dimples forming in his cheeks as he seemed genuinely pleased to learn Arthur’s name. “Well, hello Arthur.”

Arthur quickly hid behind his tea, taking a long gulp and still pretending to drink even after he’d drained the cup. Based on the feeling in his stomach, he had a sneaking suspicion that he was—for no reason other than that Merlin had smiled at him—blushing.

“Have you always lived in Albion?” Arthur asked, partly to avoid silence and partly to see if Merlin recalled what happened or not.

“No, not always,” Merlin replied. “I came here when I was boy, but I’m afraid I’ve forgotten anything besides it.”

Kilgharrah’s raspy voice spoke up for the first time. “Forgetting pain is convenient, remembering it agonising. But recovering the truth is worth the suffering.”

Arthur furrowed his brow, wondering what that could mean, but Merlin rolled his eyes. “Nobody asked _your_ opinion, Kilgharrah. Unless you’ve come because you have something to tell me about that blasted train, I’d much rather you didn’t speak at all.”

Arthur was still pondering the dragon’s words, but Merlin’s statement made him too curious not to ask. “What train?”

Merlin’s expression clouded and he suddenly became quite serious. Arthur might have imagined that the faint glow surrounding Mab dimmed a bit.

“The train destroying Albion,” Merlin explained. “It flies around—”

“A flying train?”

“—leaving ruin and decay in its wake. It’s already laid waste to most of Mab’s forest. If I don’t stop it soon, it’s going to reduce Albion to nothing.”

“Why must you be the one to stop it?”

“Because I’m the Warlock. Anything to do with magic falls under my authority, and this train is obviously some sort of dark magic.” Merlin’s lips tilted in a frown and his brows pushed together. “My own magic, unfortunately, is not exactly cooperating at the moment.”

“He’s magicless,” Mab declared.

“I am _not_ magicless!” Merlin snapped. Arthur flinched, not at the volume, but at the tone. Merlin had become rather frightening rather quickly, the brim of his large hat seeming to drop a shadow over his piercing blue eyes. “I’m simply magic-handicapped.”

Arthur was almost too scared to ask, but he didn’t think Merlin was dangerous. “What does that mean?”

Thankfully, Merlin’s tone softened when he looked back to Arthur. “I can still cast spells, but it’s as though my magic won’t listen. I could try making my spoon levitate and stir my tea, but my magic might decide to make the cup explode instead. Or sometimes, when I’m doing nothing at all, my magic might do something unpredictable, like make it start raining. What with this infernal train and my broken magic, I’m quite frustrated,” he finished miserably.

“Oh.”

Merlin glanced between them all, even at the sleeping Will, and visibly forced himself to perk up. “That’s why I decided to have a bit of tea with my friends before going to see the dragon. Not _that_ dragon,” he clarified, looking at Kilgharrah, “the other one.”

“The mad one?”

Merlin’s mouth twitched up a little. “Oh, she’s really not that mad. Only slightly.”

“I see.”

Despite not wanting to visit anyone mad before, Arthur wondered what an only-slightly mad dragon was like. Kilgharrah was mad enough, but if Merlin—who certainly was a bit mental, in this world at least—said the other dragon was better, well, surely they couldn’t be that bothersome?

It wasn’t as though Arthur had anything else to do, definitely nothing better with which to occupy his time. He also didn’t want to get lost in this strange place without Merlin. Arthur had thrown himself off a building in an attempt to save the man after all. It only seemed right that he try to remain with him.

And Kilgharrah was grinning at him expectantly.

“I could accompany you, if you like,” Arthur said.

Merlin looked delighted, his earlier smile stretching his face and making it as bright as before. “Of course!” He got to his feet suddenly, setting his cup of tea down with enough force to make some spill over the side. “We’ll leave right away!”

Without another word, he took off for the curtain of vines through which Arthur had entered the clearing. Arthur scrambled out of his seat and hastened to follow, bidding the smiling Mab farewell.


	3. Aithusa's Garden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “…the next thing is, to get into that beautiful garden—how IS that to be done, I wonder?" 
> 
> \- Lewis Carroll, _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland_

Merlin was a brisk walker. Perhaps it was the looming threat of the train that added to Merlin’s sense of urgency, but Arthur struggled to keep up, and he’d always thought himself very long of stride. Merlin’s legs, though obviously slimmer, walked with power that equally matched, if not surpassed, Arthur’s own. Arthur was a bit surprised, to say the least.

By the time they’d made it to the fork at which Arthur had met Kilgharrah, Arthur was feeling a little short of breath, and even considering asking Merlin to slow down. But he got distracted by a faerie that suddenly fluttered to Merlin’s shoulder, and watched speechlessly as it sat down facing him, waving. Arthur raised a hand and waved back.

“Just wait ‘til you see it; it’s even more beautiful than my tower,” Merlin remarked out of nowhere.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“The _garden_.”

“What garden?”

“Aithusa’s garden.”

“Is she the dragon?”

“Yes, she’s the dragon!”

“Ah. I see.”

“It has the most lovely flowers in Albion—but don’t tell the White Queen I said that—and the clearest pool I’ve ever seen. I’d even drink from it if I didn’t know Aithusa bathed in it. The faeries drink from it sometimes, though. I’ve used it as a scrying bowl once or twice as well. And the _mushrooms_ —”

“How exactly do you think she’s going to help?” Arthur asked. He didn’t much care for description; he’d see for himself once they arrived. He was more interested in the why’s and how’s. Maybe once they’d dealt with the train, they could focus on getting out of here.

“Well, since she’s a dragon, she has a bit of magic herself. She’s sure to be able to help me, and she might even know about the train. Perhaps she’s caught sight of it while flying around herself. She could tell us if it’s following some predetermined route or behaving randomly.”

“Is she a large dragon?”

She sounded nice enough, but one could never be too sure. Arthur didn’t want to risk offending something that could breathe fire on him again.

“Hmm. She’s neither large nor small, I suppose. Rather average sized. Though with only two dragons inhabiting Albion, I’m not exactly sure what average is,” Merlin replied. “She’s average height in her human form though, and very pretty.”

“Human form? So she’s some kind of shape-shifter?” Did nothing follow rules in this world? How could two dragons be so drastically different?

“Yes.”

“What form do you think she’ll be in when we get there?”

Merlin laughed. “How am I to know that? That’s like asking what mood someone will be in at any given time of the day. It could change at the flip of a switch, and Aithusa can change form whenever she pleases. Now, about the mushrooms…”

Arthur sighed and continued trying to keep pace with Merlin. As Merlin chattered on about the garden, Arthur idly noticed that the scenery was changing around them. The path they were walking became less grass and more moss. The rocky walls were covered with some sort of purple lichen, and if the sun hadn’t made it so hard to tell, Arthur would have believed it to be glowing.

There were also more faeries around. Some were sleeping in pink flowers that lined the path, some flying through the air chasing each other. The one on Merlin’s shoulder darted away suddenly, presumably going off to join the fun. Arthur supposed they’d had to relocate _somewhere_ after their forest was affected by the train.

_I can’t believe I just thought that. All this is becoming much too normal for my liking._

So he stopped taking in the exotic scenery and looked at Merlin instead. Merlin had finally finished going on about the garden, and was back to travelling in silence. Arthur studied him, all the way from his ridiculous hat with its arcane-looking symbols, to his confident walk, his shoulders squared and his strides sure.

He was so unlike the soft-spoken Merlin that Arthur had met only briefly before, and Arthur suddenly realised that he knew almost nothing about the man. And yet here Arthur was, following him through a vale to meet a shape-shifting dragon in the hopes of stopping a destructive train.

Arthur had to wonder: If Merlin was the Mad Warlock here, what had he been like in the real world?

Arthur decided right then that he would get to know Merlin as best he could. He might as well, considering they seemed to be about to go on an adventure together. And perhaps most importantly: Had Merlin truly forgot trying to commit suicide? If he did remember, then why? Had he lost whatever made him special at home too, and therefore lost all hope?

Arthur didn’t believe Merlin was mad back in the other world, more likely just severely depressed. He had seemed perfectly sane despite trying to give away all his possessions to the first stranger that smiled at him. As Arthur recalled Kilgharrah’s words about forgetting pain, he decided he would try to make Merlin remember, no matter how agonising it proved.

With that goal in mind, Arthur jogged up to fall into step beside Merlin. “So I was wondering,” he began. “What were you doing before having tea with Mab and William?”

Merlin shot him an amused look. “That’s a very nosy question.”

“I only ask because I’m not sure how I came to be here. In Albion, that is. I woke up by a waterfall without any recollection of how I’d come to ber there. I’d never even _heard_ of Albion until Kilgharrah told me. I’d thought I was dreaming at first. I’m still not sure whether or not I’m dreaming.”

“You’d have to be half mad to dream me up,” Merlin said, chuckling. He turned his head slightly to look at Arthur. “Maybe you wandered in by accident? That’s how I found Albion as a boy, wandering in by accident.”

Arthur didn’t think that really answered anything, and it sounded like an excuse if he’d ever heard one, but he half-heartedly replied, “That may be one possibility.”

Arthur’s sceptical tone must have been evident, for Merlin sighed and said, “Oh, alright, I’ll answer your question. Before going to tea, I was at the top of my tower, searching for the train. I couldn’t find it, unfortunately, I just saw what it did to Mab’s forest. I think it goes underground sometimes. Perhaps there’s a train station somewhere. I suppose one can’t have a train without a train station. At any rate, I was at the top of my tower, minding my own business.”

“And before that?”

“Well, before that, I was asleep in my bed, _still_ minding my own business. Interesting concept, that. If everybody minded their own business, the world would go round a great deal faster than it does.”

Arthur couldn’t help but feel a flare of irritation at that. It wasn’t _his_ fault that he was stuck in this world.

“Perhaps you should have thought of that before you shoved an envelope in my hands and _made_ this whole thing my business,” he snapped thoughtlessly.

Arthur was instantly mortified that the words had escaped his mouth, and Merlin abruptly stopped, turning to Arthur with wide, startled eyes.

 _Aha!_ Arthur thought. _He does know what I’m talking about!_

However, the hurt in Merlin’s face made the victory short-lived. Arthur’s heart sank and he thought, _Shit, that was a bit insensitive._

Arthur was about to apologise when Merlin suddenly tilted his head and said, “I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about.”

He began walking again, resuming his earlier pace, and Arthur could do nothing but follow.

Arthur sighed. So maybe Merlin did remember. But their situation remained exactly the same.

~ ~ ~

They reached Aithusa’s garden shortly after Arthur’s less-than-tactful interrogation. The air became more misty as they neared it, and Arthur saw that their destination seemed to be entirely surrounded by a tall wooden fence. The entrance itself was made of tangled branches, vines of ivy woven in.

With Merlin beside him doing the same, Arthur peered through the brambles into the garden. It was even more foggy inside, but as Arthur looked closer, he realised that some of it must have been smoke, because straight ahead, there was a naked woman sitting on a large red mushroom with a hookah in her mouth.

_That’s Aithusa?_ Arthur wondered. He couldn’t help but be awed by her beauty. She was quite pale; even her long hair was a glowing white. And as Merlin had said, she was very average in regards to size in her human form—average weight, average build, average face. It was only when Arthur saw her white pubic hair that he realised the one thing that made her not average was that she was albino.

There were a few thoughts in the back of Arthur’s mind, one of them being the doubt that a hookah-smoking, shape-shifting dragon could help them, especially when she kept her eyes closed and exhaled leisurely. But for the most part, he was so occupied just staring, that such thoughts got lost in the fog of his own head.

She was so _breathtaking_. Not even only in the sexual way, but in the way that nobody in the world could possibly be so plain and simultaneously so stunning.

Maybe she was also some kind of siren. When she opened her eyes, and Arthur saw that the irises were like liquid gold, he certainly would have believed it.

Merlin, however, seemed unaffected. He shouted her name to get her attention. “Aithusa!”

Aithusa blinked, but did nothing save smoke from her hookah.

“Aithusa, please let us in,” Merlin pleaded. “I need to talk to you. Aithusa!”

Aithusa exhaled smoke again, the wistful clouds drifting upwards in tendrils that mixed with the fog overhead. She tilted her head to the side, her bleary gaze seeming to focus on Arthur.

“Who are you?” she asked lazily.

Arthur felt warmth spread through his limbs. _Definitely a siren_ , he thought. That voice was so lulling. Not tinkly and sweet like Mab’s, but definitely of the same sort. Most decidedly magical. It sounded a bit like she was singing.

“It’s me,” Merlin said. “The Warlock. You know me.”

“What about the one besides you? Who are you?” she asked.

Arthur realised she was talking to him and made himself speak. “I’m Arthur.”

Aithusa put the hookah in her mouth again. She closed her eyes and said nothing, seemingly done with them.

“Aithusa!” Merlin yelled. He shook the tangled branches impatiently and Arthur tried to distance himself from whatever magic was affecting him. He took a few deep breaths to clear his head.

Aithusa opened her eyes slowly, revealing the gold underneath, and said, “Keep your temper. Who’s Arthur?”

Arthur furrowed his brow. “That’s me,” he told her, pointing to himself. “I’m Arthur.”

“Yes, but who are you?”

Arthur was getting a bit frustrated now, the novelty of her appearance most definitely wearing off. “You’re going in circles,” he said. “You don’t make any sense. This entire place is illogical.”

“Just answer the question,” Merlin advised him. “Tell her who you are.”

“I’m a man,” Arthur said, at a loss for anything else. “I’m a son, I’m a programmer, I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“You don’t know who you are?” Aithusa asked.

“I know perfectly well who I am. I’m _Arthur_.”

“Keep your temper.”

“You keep _your_ bloody temper!”

Arthur was through with her. She may have been mesmerising, but she was also rather infuriating, and it was obvious that she was too dimwitted to see sense. So much for this dragon being less mad. He spun on his heel and stormed off to try to find another way into the garden.

The wooden fence seemed to go on forever. It didn’t help that Merlin was rambling something that was no doubt nonsense behind him. If only the fence weren’t so high, or the wood so seamless. They might’ve been able to climb over.

And that was all assuming that Aithusa would even be of any help once they got inside. So far, she seemed to be absolutely useless. Arthur couldn’t understand why Merlin would ever put so much faith in her.

He had half a mind to just plop down where he was and mourn the way things had turned out when he suddenly saw a glint of silver in the midst of the fog. He stopped so abruptly that Merlin ran straight into him, jolting him a little onto his toes.

“Oh, have we stopped?” Merlin asked. “That’s good, I was worried you’d gone mad.” He giggled and stepped beside Arthur, adjusting his hat.

The mist cleared a bit, pushed away by the wind, and Arthur saw that the glint of silver that had caught his eye was the blade of a sword. It was a simple enough design, a golden pommel with an equally golden decoration on the steel, but it was also very elegant. Arthur felt drawn to it immediately.

It was, however, stuck fast in a block of stone.

“What is that?” Arthur questioned, pointing.

Merlin’s face lit up when he saw where Arthur’s finger was directed. He bounded over to the sword and threw his arms out, encompassing it as though to say “ta-da!”

“ _This_ is Excalibur,” he said. “Only the true ruler of Albion can pull the sword out. The Red Queen—she’s the current ruler—was beyond livid when she couldn’t do it.”

Arthur walked over, stepping into the sunlight that seemed to shine down on just this particular spot. He eyed the stone from all angles, trying to determine if such a sword would even be worth extracting. It probably wasn’t very sharp. And shouldn’t it have eroded a bit by now?

Merlin, naturally, was still going on about it. “I’ve tried and failed myself, in fact, even when I could properly control my magic. But one day someone will come along and—”

Arthur grabbed the handle and pulled it free. It hadn’t been that difficult, actually. A little tug at first, but as easy as cutting through butter after that.

Merlin gawked, his full lips making a rather large “O” that sent Arthur’s mind to places best left vacant given the current situation.

“I’m guessing it wasn’t supposed to be that easy,” Arthur said.

Merlin’s eyes darted between Arthur’s hand on the sword and Arthur’s face. The seconds dragged on, and Arthur thought it was getting a bit ridiculous at this point.

“Merlin?”

Merlin finally made a sound at that, gasping. “You know my real name? The King knows my name!” He suddenly took off his hat and bowed his head, dropping to one knee.

_Oh God, does he seriously believe I’m the King of Albion now?_

_Wow, his hair looks really soft._

Arthur cleared his throat awkwardly. “Right, well, um, stand up, Merlin, you look ridiculous.”

Merlin scrambled to his feet and put his hat back on. “We can get into the garden now,” he said quickly, grabbing hold of Arthur’s sleeve and pulling him along. “Aithusa would never refuse the King.”

“Are you sure? I mean, is that really any way to choose a ruler, based on whether or not they’re strong enough to pull a sword from a stone?”

Not that anything else in Albion made sense. Arthur really had to work on remembering that.

“It’s not strength, you dolt. It’s _Albion_. Hundreds have tried to take up Excalibur, but it’s Albion who chooses its rightful wielder. Of course I’m sure you’re the King!”

Arthur almost told Merlin to let go of his sleeve—he was following willingly after all, and as King, Merlin really oughtn’t to be handling him like that—but he rather liked Merlin holding onto him and leading him along, so he let the words die on his tongue.

Arthur hadn’t realised how far he’d walked in his tantrum, but at last they reached the entrance again. Arthur still had his doubts about whether or not he was King, but if Merlin (apparently an authority figure of some sort) believed it, then it had to have _some_ meaning.

Merlin stood by the brambles with his hands on his hips, grinning broadly as he waited for Arthur. Arthur wasn’t exactly sure what he was supposed to do, and honestly he hadn’t the slightest notion of what to do with a sword in the first place, even though it felt somehow right in his hand. He raised it parallel to the ground, pointing the tip straight at Aithusa through the entwined twigs, and tried to speak in his most powerful voice.

“I, King Arthur of Albion, command you to open the…magical branches…and let us into your garden.”

Nothing happened for a few worrisome seconds, but then Aithusa’s golden eyes glowed an even brighter yellow, and the branches untangled, clearing the path. Merlin entered with a whoop of triumph, and Arthur thought for a moment that Merlin might even somersault from excitement.

The red mushroom on which Aithusa sat had looked large from far away, but actually only came up to their waists. Still, it was larger than any mushroom Arthur had ever seen, making Aithusa’s head on the same level as theirs.

Up this close, Aithusa’s nudity was even more obvious, and Arthur wasn’t really sure where to look. He thought perhaps her eyes most appropriate, but the golden gaze was so intense that he couldn’t hold it for longer than a few seconds, and quickly looked away. He settled on staring at the base of the hookah. That seemed the most safe.

Merlin plopped down on the grass in front of the smoking woman, craning his neck back and making his hat tilt dangerously. “What do you know about the train?” he asked. “Can you help me control my magic again? When’s the last time you flew? Because you’re starting to look a bit weak. Surely you don’t spend all your time holed up in the garden.”

Aithusa looked down at him unblinkingly, putting the hookah into her mouth and smoking.

“Perhaps you ought to start with one question at a time,” Arthur advised.

Merlin nodded, his hat tilting even more dangerously. “That’s an excellent idea. Aithusa, do you know what’s happened to my magic? Why can’t I control it anymore?” He frowned. “Oh dear, that’s two questions. But I suppose they’re connected. Anyway, every time I try to cast a spell, it ends up being the wrong one or not working. Can you please help me?”

Aithusa took the hookah out of her mouth, looked as though she was about to speak, but actually just exhaled through pursed lips.

“I _said_ , do you know—”

“What’s happened to you?”

Merlin’s shoulders sagged with relief at finally being acknowledged. “Yes, that’s precisely what I’ve come to ask you.”

Aithusa repeated the question. “Do you know what on earth has happened to you?”

Merlin fell back onto the ground with a drawn out groan, his arms splaying out beside him. “This is going to take forever,” he mourned.

Arthur looked down at Merlin, back to Aithusa, back to Merlin, and agreed that yes, it was going to take a while. He figured he may as well explore the garden while Merlin tried to sort things out, and check back later. He scanned the immediate surroundings, considered the various sized mushrooms and oddly coloured trees, and finally just decided to go right.

Despite the mist in the air making everything a bit muted, the colours here seemed even more deep than in the vale Arthur had awoke in. He could tell why Merlin had been so excited when describing the place, and why he’d been so talkative about the mushrooms. There were all sorts of coloured fungi of all sorts of sizes.

The same went for the flowers, some of them so large that Arthur was sure he could lay down in the petals and sleep exactly as the faeries did. He touched some of them and found the texture remarkably soft. They made the air smell sweet as well.

And there were _so_ many faeries. The trees were so thick that the sun was completely blocked out, and the faeries above him looked like dancing stars. They were positively everywhere, and Arthur had to watch his step for fear of accidentally trampling one.

He didn’t wander too far off, because he didn’t want to get lost. When he came to a blue mushroom with a rather thick stalk, he went and sat under it, leaning back and resting Excalibur across his legs. He closed his eyes and just breathed the sweet air a few minutes, feeling more at peace than he had since waking up.

 _The entire world is nonsense, but it’s beautiful and calming for the most part, I’ll give it that. It_ would _be a shame if that train destroyed everything._

Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad to stay here. Dreaming or dead, Arthur may even be able to get used to it. And if he really was to rule all of Albion, he would definitely try to bring a sense of order to it. Maybe not too much, since Merlin seemed to like it that way, but just the right amount, where it was needed.

Arthur opened his eyes and looked at the blade in his lap, marvelling over the glistening steel and golden hilt. The truth was, he didn’t know what it meant to be King of anything. It had happened so fast, his pulling the sword from the stone, and he hadn’t expected anything to really come of it.

He asked himself again if he really _wanted_ to be King. Sure, it sounded nice, but exercising some kind of rule was most likely more trouble than it was worth. And it still felt a bit like he was playing pretend, going along with whatever Merlin said for lack of anything better to do. Would he even be able to take the role seriously?

 _I can’t believe I’m actually considering this. But if I_ am _dead, and there’s no going back, I may as well try to wrap my head around it, right? If I’m to stay here forever..._

Arthur was startled out of his thoughts when he noticed a faerie making her way hesitantly across the grass toward him. Her pink hair was in two long braids on either side of her shoulders, her green dress seeming to sparkle in sunlight that wasn’t there. She was the most fragile thing Arthur had ever laid eyes on, and he couldn’t believe he’d been scared of them before.

It also had never occurred to him that they might be just as frightened of him. He tried to smile politely at her and relax his muscles, thinking that maybe they were like animals and could sense human emotions. He told his brain to emanate positive signals.

“Hello,” he said softly, not wanting to alarm her.

She froze in place a moment, as though caught in the act, then smiled sheepishly and hastily climbed up Arthur’s trousers onto his knee. Her small limbs tickled a bit, but Arthur made himself stay perfectly still. She glowed and smiled happily as she folded her legs underneath her and got comfortable.

“Is it true you’re the King of Albion?” she asked in a high voice.

Arthur was surprised that she could speak. But if Mab could talk, he didn’t see why the smaller faeries wouldn’t be able to.

“I suppose it must be since I pulled this sword from the stone.”

The edge of the blade was right across Arthur’s thigh, close enough for her to lean forward a bit and look into the steel as though it were a mirror. She stared at it in awe a few moments, before looking back up at him a bit shyly.

“Are you going to stop the train and defeat the Red Queen?”

Arthur had only a vague idea of who the Red Queen was, having briefly heard Merlin mention her before extracting Excalibur. But he supposed if she was the current ruler, and he the rightful King, he would have to dethrone her eventually.

“I’ve never killed anyone before,” Arthur confessed. “I’ve been in a good many disagreements, but I’ve never even held a sword until just recently. I’m afraid I don’t know the first thing about sword fighting.”

Another faerie suddenly alighted on Arthur’s boot, sitting down and leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. His hair was as blue as the mushroom Arthur sat under, and he wore only a pair of faded red trousers.

The female faerie on Arthur’s knee said, “Albion wouldn’t choose a bad king. I bet you have excellent judgement.”

“I _have_ always prided myself on knowing what to do in most situations,” Arthur replied. After all, as a computer scientist, it was his job to make decisions for the computer and tell it what to do. At least, it used to be.

“There you go!” she exclaimed, throwing her hands up excitedly. “You’ll be a more just ruler than the Red Queen ever was!”

Arthur seemed to be attracting a lot of attention, and tried not to move too much as more faeries gathered around him. He fought the urge to twitch as they climbed atop him, jumping only slightly when he felt one come to rest on top of his head.

 _Would it be terribly rude to ask them to give me a bit of breathing room?_ Arthur wondered.

“Still,” Arthur said, “I’ve never killed anyone. I’m not sure how I feel having to shove a sword through someone’s chest no matter how unjust they may be.”

“Wait ‘til you meet her,” the male faerie on his foot stated. “You’ll have no problem killing her then.”

“Perhaps.”

Arthur heard voices then, and not the high-pitched musical sound that belonged to faeries. It was Aithusa and Merlin, and a few of the faeries fluttered away toward them.

A faerie on Arthur’s shoulder groaned. Arthur turned his head just enough to see her in the corner of his eye, and raised a questioning brow.

“They’re infatuated with the Mad Warlock,” she explained. “Sapphire wouldn’t stop bragging for a whole week when she managed to get into his hair. She said she would’ve pulled a few strands out but didn’t want to risk losing favour with him.”

Arthur laughed just as Merlin came into view, walking next to a white dragon that was as tall as his elbows. Arthur assumed it was Aithusa in dragon form, and was a little surprised at seeing that she wasn’t long and serpentine like Kilgharrah, but rather a dragon with legs and wings. There were a few faeries sitting on the brim of Merlin’s hat, as well as on top, somehow not falling even as Merlin’s head moved when he spoke.

“I _told_ you,” Merlin was saying, “I’ve forgot anything besides Albion. I don’t remember anything of…of _there_.”

“Forgetting’s just forgetting, except when it’s not. Then they call it something else,” Aithusa remarked.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Aithusa didn’t reply, just puffed smoke out of her large nostrils. Merlin sighed in exasperation, and soon they’d passed by Arthur altogether without having seen him.

“I don’t know much about the Warlock,” Arthur told the faerie on his shoulder, “but he _is_ rather handsome.”

All of the faeries giggled and Arthur blushed. He hadn’t thought that had been a terribly revealing comment; he’d just been stating a fact.

“The King of Albion is infatuated with the Mad Warlock as well,” one of them declared before bursting into musical laughter again.

“I am not!” Arthur exclaimed. “I haven’t even thought of him that way.”

 _Well, not often_ , he mentally added.

“But you are now,” another faerie sang.

Arthur tried not to think of Merlin’s parted lips and slender legs, and utterly failed. He blushed and scrambled to his feet, sending the faeries fluttering. Not that they seemed to care. They were still too busy giggling over the King of Albion and his apparent crush on the Mad Warlock.

“It was very nice meeting you all, but I have things to do,” Arthur stated in his most dignified tone. “Kingly things.”

Arthur started to leave, but the male faerie from his foot flew into his face, waving his hands, and said, “Wait!” Arthur frowned, reluctantly waiting.

The faerie took off for the nearest tree, and as Arthur watched, he began performing a bit of magic, making pieces of bark peel away and mould together. After about ten seconds, and a little magical polishing, Arthur saw that the faerie was fashioning a scabbard, hovering there in midair.

Arthur started when another faerie began undoing his white braces. He nearly began to ask just what the hell she was doing when he realised that she was transforming it into a belt. By the end of only a minute, Arthur had a belt around his waist and a sleek wooden scabbard attached to his side.

It would certainly be nice not having to carry around the sword all the time. “Thank you,” Arthur said, sheathing the blade. “It’s very well done.” He found that the sword felt just as right secured at his hip as it did in his hand.

The two faeries bowed, their glowing skin seeming to pulsate with pride at the praise. They darted off quickly, and Arthur went to find Merlin.

He and Aithusa hadn’t gone far. Only a little ways down was the clear pool Merlin had been talking about earlier, and they were standing beside it, still deep in conversation. Arthur could tell from Merlin’s body language that he was frustrated, pacing back and forth with a frown on his face and his arms clasped behind his back. As Arthur approached, stepping behind a speckled white tree to avoid interrupting, Merlin began shouting.

“I know you know more than you’re telling me, Aithusa!” he yelled. “Who set that bloody train in motion? Where has it come from?”

Arthur expected Aithusa to tell Merlin to keep his temper, or worse, wouldn’t reply at all and just puff smoke, but she deigned to respond.

“Unlike the trouble with your magic, the train is not your doing. The corruption of Albion comes from an outside source.”

Arthur’s heart skipped and Merlin suddenly began wringing his hands, asking the same thing that was on Arthur’s mind.

“Is it Arthur?” he asked nearly in a whisper. “Surely it can’t be, not if he’s the rightful king.”

“It is not Arthur,” Aithusa said.

Merlin sighed in relief at the same time Arthur did. Arthur wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if he was somehow causing problems in...Well, he supposed it had to be Merlin’s world of a sort? He’d only just come to terms with possibly liking it here, and anyway, he wouldn’t know how to leave even if he _was_ the source of the destruction.

That only left the question: What was the outside force?

Seeing the lull in conversation, Arthur left his hiding spot from behind the tree and walked closer. Merlin smiled when he caught sight of him.

“Arthur! I’d wondered where you’d wandered off to. I think I’m finally getting somewhere!”

Aithusa shifted suddenly back into human form, sitting by the pool. She dangled her legs in the water, and the pool was so clear that Arthur could see her feet.

“You’ve told me that I’m the one preventing myself from doing proper magic,” Merlin began, getting back to the matter at hand. “But can you tell me how to control it again?”

Aithusa slid into the pool, submerging her body before coming up to float on her back. She closed her eyes and hummed contentedly. Arthur couldn’t help but be a little awed by her beauty again, especially with the water making her skin glisten in the faerie-light.

“Aithusa,” Merlin nudged with a touch of impatience.

“If you can find your magic here, you can find your magic there,” she said.

“I haven’t lost my magic here.”

“Then you haven’t lost it there. But that’s neither here nor there. You have a train to catch, and there isn’t much time.”

She sank beneath the surface, and it was obvious that that was all she had to say on the subject.

Merlin turned away from the pool with a thoughtful expression. Arthur was trying to figure it out as well. So Merlin _had_ thought he’d lost something in the real world? That seemed to be what Aithusa was referring to.

“So what do we do now?” Arthur asked.

Merlin looked up at him a bit startled, as though he’d forgotten Arthur was there. “I’m not sure,” he said. “Perhaps we ought to speak to the White Queen. Her castle’s on the other side of Albion, about a day’s walk from here, but she’s certain to be able to help somehow.” Merlin nodded, talking himself into the course of action. “Yes, we shall go to the White Queen. She’s very wise, and unlike dragons, she doesn’t speak in riddles. Come on.”

With that goal in mind, Merlin started walking and Arthur followed. Arthur seemed to be doing a lot of following of late.

Arthur wanted to ask more about the White Queen, because this was only the second time he’d heard her mentioned, but based on Merlin’s short speech, she seemed less a threat than the other one.

So as they left the garden, Arthur asked, “Who’s the Red Queen? The faeries seemed to think that besides stopping the train, my duty as King was to defeat her.”

“Ah, so that’s where you got off to. Chatting with faeries.”

“Yes. They think very highly of you.”

Arthur glanced around, but wasn’t sure he’d be able to recognise any given faerie, let alone the ones that had crowded around him earlier. He only hoped none of them were nearby and wouldn’t whisper in Merlin’s ear what Arthur had said about him being handsome.

“And of you, I should think,” Merlin said. “Word travels fast among faeries. By now they’ll all know who you are.”

Arthur felt his stomach lurch with anxiety. _Oh God no. It’s going to be worse than college._

“I suppose. But as I was saying—the Red Queen?”

The sun was suddenly blazing right in Arthur’s face as they exited the temporary twilight, and he put his hand up to shield his eyes, squinting. He envied Merlin his hat.

“I’ve never met her, only heard stories and been sent instructions via missionaries. But we don’t want to even think about the Red Queen right now,” Merlin said. “We have more pressing matters to attend to. And anyway, the Red Queen is absolutely raving mad.”

Arthur smirked, though Merlin couldn’t see it. “Isn’t the Mad Warlock raving as well?”

“Yes, but he doesn’t go beheading people for no reason.”

Arthur thought that was a fair point. “But if the Red Queen is the current ruler of Albion, isn’t she likely to be more informed about the train?”

“That may be true, and it may not be. Either way, I’d like to visit the White Queen first, for the obvious aforementioned reason of unnecessary beheading.”

Arthur’s eyes had started to adjust to the sun by now, so he dropped his arm. He shrugged—though Merlin couldn’t see that either—and decided he’d just keep following Merlin, since it seemed like he knew what he was doing.

They’d walked almost ten minutes when Arthur’s stomach growled. Huh. He hadn’t even thought about food.

“Is there anything to eat? I’m getting a bit peckish.”


	4. The Queen of Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “…I can’t understand it myself to begin with; and being so many different sizes in a day is very confusing.” 
> 
> \- Lewis Carroll, _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland_

Arthur had just finished his last handful of gaia berries when he ran into Merlin, accidentally stepping on the heel of Merlin’s boot.

“Oh, have we stopped?” Arthur asked, looking up.

He saw instantly what had made Merlin halt.

They’d been walking through mostly grassland after taking a detour out of the vale, then had entered a forest, which is where Merlin pointed out the edible berries. However, the lush forest through which they’d been travelling was no longer thick with vegetation and wildlife.

The scene before them now was of dead, withered trees, and brown, decaying shrubs. The ground was littered with shrivelled leaves, and the air was foggy, not misty like it was in Aithusa’s garden, but thick and heavy. The setting sun made the place look like an apocalyptic wasteland. Arthur could see what had to be the Andorian Mountains on his right, rising high and majestic into the darkening sky.

Merlin knelt slowly, reaching out to touch a grey flower. It turned to ashes between his fingers.

 _No,_ Arthur thought. _That train did all_ this _? To Mab’s forest? To Albion?_

Arthur watched as Merlin scooped up the ashes into trembling hands. He couldn’t see Merlin’s face, but the slump of his shoulders and his silence made it clear what the scene did to him. Arthur hadn’t even been in Albion a day and the sight broke his heart a little.

He gasped when the ashes began to rise, swirling in an upward spiral from Merlin’s cupped hands. He knew right away that it was magic, that Merlin was trying to fix the flower. He’d been wondering if he’d ever get to see Merlin try, and his heart raced from the thrill of watching.

The ashes solidified from dust to something more rigid, the grey, sandy texture turning green and smooth. The first few leaves had begun to poke out of the stem when flames suddenly erupted from nowhere, scorching the half-formed plant and turning it back to ashes. It slipped hopelessly through Merlin’s fingers.

The sound that escaped Merlin then made Arthur wince, the loud, anguished scream of frustration echoing across the barren land. It was as though the scream had come from within Arthur’s own head, and he felt Merlin’s sorrow in every fibre of his being, along with a subtle prickling of fear that made goosebumps break out across his skin. As Merlin’s arms wrapped around his middle, hunched over and holding himself together, Arthur felt his heart go from breaking a little to breaking a lot.

The dead leaves rustled as Arthur hesitantly sat down beside him. He wasn’t sure what to say, but he had to offer some kind of comfort. Merlin had been bright and cheerful the first time Arthur saw him in Albion. That the Mad Warlock should be reduced to this trembling state, not just in the real world, but here as well, was unequivocally wrong.

“A-Aithusa said the train came from outside,” Merlin said, his voice hoarse from screaming. “It can’t be my fault, and yet it feels like it is. I-I-I’m responsible for the magic in Albion, and the fact that this train is running on my watch puts the blame on me.”

Merlin’s hands curled tighter, clutching at the fabric of his shirt over his hips as he hunched further in on himself. Arthur wanted to put a hand on him somewhere in comfort but wasn’t sure where. He settled for letting his knee touch Merlin’s, a subtle but significant gesture letting Merlin know Arthur was there for him.

“S-So many faeries lost their home because of me,” Merlin continued in a shaky breath.

Arthur couldn’t see his face because of the brim of his hat, but he figured Merlin was near crying, his throat clogged up with emotion, making it hard for him to speak. He pressed his knee more firmly against Merlin’s.

“Even if I do manage to find the train, how am I supposed to stop it without magic? I’m useless without magic.”

“That’s not true,” Arthur said, startling even himself with his declaration. But he believed it. Losing one thing, no matter how powerful it was, didn’t make anyone useless. People were a sum of their parts.

Merlin took off his hat and put it across his lap. Arthur could see now that Merlin was indeed almost crying, and the loss of the ridiculous headwear made Merlin seem less a boy and more a man. A hollowed out, broken man.

“A warlock that can’t do magic is like a writer that can’t write, or an artist that can’t art,” Merlin said miserably. “I’m not the same as I was before. I was much more…muchier. I’ve lost my muchness. And now Albion is going to be destroyed because of it.”

Was that it then? Was Merlin an artist or writer who’d suddenly lost inspiration? Had he felt useless at home as well?

Arthur couldn’t imagine wanting to commit suicide over something like that, but then he was more logic-oriented and didn’t know the first thing about creativity.

He tried to put himself in Merlin’s shoes and think about what it would be like to have thousands of stories in his head, thousands of worlds to create, and then suddenly have a blank slate. If Merlin’s profession had been something that relied on his ability to create, it made at least a little sense that he’d feel some pressure and go into a deep depression. Even so, the amount on the cheque hadn’t been terribly small, almost six thousand quid. Merlin would have been able to get by a little longer on such an amount.

“Writers go through writer’s block and artists sometimes struggle to find inspiration,” Arthur said. “Maybe your magic is like that, and you just need something to kickstart it into proper working order again.”

Merlin didn’t even raise his head to look at Arthur, only stayed slumped over staring at the ashes of the flower. “What exactly would that be?” he asked in a monotone voice. “It’s not as though I can sit down and have a chat with my magic and tell it to stop misbehaving.”

“That’s true, but you can sit down and have a chat with yourself. The magic is part of you, isn’t it? You’re the Mad Warlock, surely you’ve talked to yourself a few times.”

Merlin did crack a smile at that, just a little one that made his lips twitch at the corners. “I suppose I have.”

“So just keep talking to yourself,” Arthur encouraged. “I’m not sure how it works, but when you do a bit of magic, just concentrate really hard and say ‘This is what’s going to happen. I’m going to make this flower come back to life, and if that doesn’t happen, I’m going to try again until it does.’”

“But what if it never does?” Merlin asked, finally turning his head to look at Arthur. His eyes were so incredibly wide, incredibly blue. “What if I get frustrated and upset and start feeling useless again?”

“Tell yourself you’re _not_ useless. That you’ve done it before and you can do it again. The only way you _won’t_ do it is if you give up and don’t even try. Magic is a skill, right? One has to practise it just like anything. Even if they’re already the best in all of Albion,” Arthur added with a smile.

Merlin looked much more like his old self now, less on the verge of tears, but still quite sceptical. Arthur got to his feet and drew his sword. Merlin turned around on his knees to keep looking at him.

“Take this sword, for instance,” Arthur began, waving it around. “Do you think I have any idea how to use it? Absolutely not. And yet I’m the King of Albion and everyone expects me to be this great ruler and defeat the Red Queen. I don’t think _I’m_ useless just because I can’t fight. Sure, I may look like an idiot swinging it around, but I’m going to try my best. The whole time, I’m going to be thinking, ‘I’m the King of Albion, and no way is something like inexperience going to stop me.’”

Merlin suddenly stood up, the bright smile returning to his face. “You’re right.”

“Of course I’m right.”

“I’ll practise the entire day once we get to the White Queen’s castle,” Merlin declared firmly. “I’ll go around talking to myself, changing the colours of the flowers in the garden, making shapes out of the clouds.”

“And while you’re doing that, I’ll talk to the Queen to get information about the train.”

“It’s decided then. We’re going to save Albion!” Merlin exclaimed happily, throwing his arms up.

Arthur grinned back at him. “That’s what we were _always_ going to do!”

Merlin picked up his hat, shaking it free of dust before plopping it back on his head. Arthur held out his arm, and true to form, Merlin grabbed his sleeve, pulling him along.

“Come on then,” Merlin said, setting a quick pace with his long legs. “We’ve lost a lot of time. In fact, we’re in time debt. Almost a time depression! We’ll have to walk twice as fast if we want to get anywhere, and we’ll go a little further before settling down for the night. We should put some distance between us and the Red Queen’s castle.”

Arthur sheathed his sword, his blood thrumming pleasantly from hearing Merlin’s usual fast-paced rambling. The forest around them remained as desolate as ever, but Merlin’s mood had shifted the atmosphere.

“Why, is her castle quite close by?”

“Close enough that we might run into a few of her knights. And the last thing we need is to be taken prisoner by the Red Queen.”

Arthur nodded, not that Merlin could see. He was also smiling like an idiot, happy to have sparked Merlin back to normal. He was almost certain he’d found the reason for Merlin’s trying to kill himself, and now Merlin was going to be able to do magic again as well. Merlin’s grip on Arthur’s sleeve changed from just bunching fabric in his fist to a hand wrapped around Arthur’s arm, and the warmth radiated through Arthur’s entire body as they shuffled on.

The mood was cut short when Arthur felt something wind around his waist, pinning his arms to his side and yanking him backward. Whatever it was, it dug into his skin painfully, pulling him from Merlin’s grasp and making him fall on his back with a sharp exhale. He was bound and helpless.

Merlin spun around the instant Arthur was ripped out of his hand, his eyes going wide with shock, and then what appeared to be fright. From over Arthur’s head, a white cord shot out and gave Merlin the same treatment, winding around his waist and pinning his arms at the same time Merlin said, “Shit.” At least he managed not to fall to the ground.

Arthur rolled over onto his stomach to locate the source. The sun had already been going down, and now it was almost completely set. The lack of light cast the two approaching figures in even deeper shadow, and Arthur could just make out their shape through the fog from his spot on the ground.

However, the two large, hairy spiders each person was riding were easy to distinguish.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Merlin muttered behind him. “Don’t say anything, Arthur, don’t say a single word. And keep Excalibur sheathed, whatever happens.”

The shadowy figures got closer, and now Arthur could hear the scurrying of their mounts’ eight legs over the dead leaves. Their outlines sharpened as they became less obscured by fog, and Arthur could see that they were wearing mail. Knights.

_Keep Excalibur sheathed. Got it._

At last, the knights were upon them. Arthur tried to stand, but could do little more than wriggle around given the bound state of his arms. His prone position prevented him getting a proper look at the knights, so it wasn’t until they dismounted that Arthur could study who his captors were to be.

Though both had heart symbols on their chests, one was obviously more highly ranked than the other. His armour was more elaborately decorated and had a more complex design, the angles and curves clearly being the work of a superior blacksmith. Arthur craned his neck back to see their faces.

And then his heart stopped.

“Uncle Agravaine?”

~ ~ ~

Arthur couldn’t tell if the Red Queen’s castle had always been like this or if the train had paid her a visit as well. The decaying garden in the front made Arthur think of someone having left flowers at a grave, a token of remembrance that only made things more depressing when they shrivelled and died, too.

Insects had made a home for themselves in the fountain that looked like it had never had water running through it at all. Black, faceless knights stood at attention, some of them sitting atop spiders with dripping mandibles. Inside, there were spiderwebs at nearly every corner. The stone walls were grimy with dirt and the occasional green slime that Arthur didn’t look too closely at, and there weren’t nearly enough torches to provide the place with suitable lighting.

Arthur kept shooting glances at the men who’d taken them prisoner, namely the one that resembled his uncle. He still couldn’t be quite sure what or where Albion was exactly, but if this _was_ a dream of some sort, would it not make sense for someone from his own reality to have slipped through?

Following that same line of thinking, could his and Merlin’s consciouses have somehow blended together?

Arthur’s question was answered when they were led into the throne room. His jaw dropped the moment he noticed the woman sitting at the head of the hall, and really, it was too fitting for Morgana—his _sister_ —to be the dreaded Red Queen. She was wicked in real life as well.

This Morgana looked worse, though. Her inky black hair flowing past her shoulders and her piercing green eyes Arthur was used to. What irked him was the colour of her lips, a red so dark and deep that it was as though she had painted them with blood. And her skin was so pale that she did indeed look like a vampire.

Her clothing had a touch of Victorian to it, only making her seem more like a royal vampress. A black petticoat made her black skirts puff out around her knees, and she wore a crimson bodice with black lacing, the swell of her breasts shaping the top of the heart design. The only modern garment was on her feet—black and red check boots that reached the top of her calves, just below where her skirt stopped.

The real Morgana looked a little sinister even on her best days, but this one radiated evil. Arthur could see why everyone was so eager to have her killed. If it weren’t for the fact that she was his sister, Arthur didn’t think he’d have a problem stabbing her.

But was she? Like his uncle, she didn’t seem to recognise him, and she had certainly never before frightened Arthur to the point that she was now, making his heart race with fear just from her disdainful look.

Then she spoke, and her voice came out like venom, sharp and powerful and sending shivers down Arthur’s spine.

“Excellent work, Knave,” she said as Agravaine knelt by her throne. She pet the hair on top of his bowed head a few seconds before abruptly stopping, as though afraid she might catch a disease. “Tell the executioner to bring me a heart.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Agravaine intoned, rising to leave right away.

Suddenly Morgana’s voice lashed out like a whip, her smooth expression quickly pinching into one of anger. “Where are your manners, untie them at once!” she ordered, pointing to Arthur and Merlin.

Arthur flinched when a pair of hands began attacking the white cord around his body. The two faceless knights untying him and Merlin brought a cold air with them, and Arthur was too glad when the task was done and they stepped back.

“Kneel!” Morgana ordered.

Arthur didn’t know who she was speaking to at first, but then Merlin took off his hat and dropped to his knees, bowing his head respectfully. Arthur quickly followed, even though it felt incredibly weird and wrong kneeling before his sister.

“I’ve been searching for you, Warlock,” she said, her tone returning to its original venomous lilt. “You haven’t been in your tower all day.”

“I was attending to business,” Merlin replied, keeping his eyes down. His voice was firm, but Arthur saw the anxious curling of his fingers around the brim of his hat. “I’ve been consulting my acquaintances on the matter of the train. Surely you’re aware of—”

“Yes, of course I’m aware of the train. While _you_ were off having foolish tea parties and talking with raving dragons, I was in court all day listening to endless complaints. The executioner has never been more busy in his life.”

A tall man in executioner’s clothing entered then, and because he wasn’t wearing his hood, Arthur could see his face. He stared in shock as his own father approached the throne, carrying a velvet red pillow.

Did his _entire_ family have some evil role to play in Albion? Must he defeat them all?

Before Arthur could be too worried about it, he noticed just what was on the pillow: a human heart. He gaped in disgust as Morgana picked it up and brought it to her mouth, the blood trickling down her fingers all the way to her elbow. The rawness of the organ evidently made it hard to bite, for she had to squeeze it and tear the stringy flesh forcefully with her teeth, only increasing the bloody mess. It dripped onto her dress, down her chin, but she didn’t seem to notice or care. It made Arthur’s stomach turn.

Merlin nudged him while she was otherwise occupied. “You mustn’t stare like that or it’ll be your heart she eats next,” he whispered.

Arthur tried to smooth his expression and force back the rising sickness in his stomach.

Satisfied with her first few bites, the Queen licked her lips and eyed them again, this time staring right at Arthur. Arthur felt like she was imagining killing him slowly.

“And who are you?” she asked. Arthur could hear the underlying meaning: Give me a reason to keep you alive.

Arthur glanced at Merlin, remembering that they’d decided to keep his kingship a secret so that he could keep his head.

“I’m Arthur. I’m a friend of the Warlock and I just happened to be walking with him when he was taken.”

“Where do you come from? And where are you going? Look up, speak nicely, and don’t even think about touching your sword.”

“I-I can’t remember where I come from.”

“You _must_ remember, or I’ll have you executed!”

 _Oh fuck, she really is raving mad._ Arthur cast another quick glance at Merlin, who looked back at him with eyes full of anxious worry.

“I come from my mother and I’m going wherever the Warlock goes.”

Arthur prayed that answer was enough. His heart thumped in his chest so loudly that he worried the Queen could hear it and would want to rip it out immediately, replace the one in her hand with a fresh one.

Luckily, she accepted it. “Everything in Albion belongs to me, including the Mad Warlock, and he goes where I tell him. Why have you come to Albion at all?”

“I’ve come to—”

“Your Majesty,” she interrupted sharply.

Arthur grit his teeth. “Your Majesty,” he began again. “I’ve come to help stop the train.”

“And what do you plan to do about the train?”

“We were just brainstorming when we were taken pris—picked up,” Merlin supplied quickly. “Your Majesty.”

“By all means, continue to brainstorm in my presence,” she said, taking a lazy bite of her heart.

Arthur and Merlin shared yet another glance, and Arthur saw that Merlin was at a complete loss. For obvious reasons, Merlin was reluctant to tell her about the lost control of his magic, and they hadn’t _really_ come up with any ideas for stopping the train at all.

“Well, we’re really quite tired actually, since we’ve been walking all day and the only thing we’ve had to eat is berries. So…perhaps it’s best we pick things up tomorrow? Your Majesty?” Arthur said. He could tell that Merlin was holding his breath, his fingers clenching and unclenching around the brim of his hat again.

Morgana simply chewed on her dripping heart a few moments, thoughtfully looking at each of them in turn before swallowing, licking her lips, and sighing.

“Perhaps that is best,” she said finally. “It’s been an awfully long day and I’m rather fed up with this train business. I’m sure it won’t do too much harm overnight. We’ll resume in the morning.”

Merlin exhaled, and Arthur felt his relief.

“Guards! Lead them to a room,” she ordered.

“We’re sharing a room?” Arthur asked before he could stop himself.

“If you’re friends with the Warlock, surely you won’t mind sharing a room for one night. And as far as I can see, you’re just a man with a sword. Why should you get special treatment and your own lodgings?”

“If I’m of so little importance that I don’t deserve my own room, and the Warlock is of enough importance that he _does_ , putting us together is utterly ridiculous—”

The Queen bolted up from her throne, fire in her eyes, and Arthur’s stomach lurched. “What?!” she exclaimed furiously. “Are you calling me ridiculous?” She pointed a bloody finger at him, straight and vicious. “Off with his head!”

The executioner—who had never left—began walking toward him, and Merlin scrambled to his feet, hastily pulling Arthur up with him.

“He didn’t mean that, Your Majesty, he simply didn’t understand your superior reasoning,” Merlin explained quickly. “Please forgive him, he doesn’t mind sharing a room with me. Do you, Arthur?”

Arthur saw his father coming closer, axe in his hand, and immediately shook his head. “No, of course I don’t mind. I meant no disrespect. Your Majesty.”

The Queen lowered her hand. “Stop.”

The executioner stopped, but his blank eyes still regarded Arthur coldly. Arthur was only just barely able to breathe normally. He couldn’t believe his sister—or at least someone who looked like his sister—had been about to order his father to kill him without a second thought.

“Lead them away,” she said with a wave of her arm.

The knights from before appeared at their sides, bringing the cold air back with them. “Come,” one of them said in a voice that seemed to sound from the depths of his helmet.

Merlin picked up his hat from the floor, placing it so haphazardly on his head that Arthur was worried it would slip off, then grabbed Arthur’s arm. They followed the knights out of the throne room, and once they were in the relative safety of the corridor, Merlin hissed in Arthur’s ear, “You idiot!”

~ ~ ~

Arthur wasn’t sure how he was going to sleep, because he didn’t have pants on underneath his trousers. He was grateful that the room they’d been given had a large bed, certainly large enough for two men to share, but how was this going to work exactly? He’d been trekking around Albion all day, gathering dirt and dust, and while he had no qualms about having to wear the same clothes the next day, he didn’t feel comfortable wearing them to bed.

He removed his belt and scabbard as slowly as possible, waiting to see what Merlin was going to do. Setting his hat down on a table across the room, Merlin didn’t seem to be taking his time as Arthur was. His hands flitted around, and he hummed a tune as though the gloomy atmosphere and their current hopeless situation didn’t bother him, as carefree as when Arthur had first seen him having tea.

Arthur reached up to begin undoing the buttons of his shirt. Merlin did the same, though his back was turned and he faced the window looking out onto the shadowy courtyard. He unbuttoned his waistcoat with deft fingers before hanging it over a chair. He pinched the hem of one striped sleeve, pulling his arm free, then gave the same treatment to the other. Arthur held his breath as Merlin raised the garment over his head and dropped it in a heap on the table by his hat.

He tried not to stare, but his hands longed to touch all that revealed skin. It looked marvellous. Merlin was certainly pale, his hat and sleeves keeping him from most of the sun’s rays—and what his excuse was in the real world, Arthur didn’t know—but not as pale as Morgana had been. There was a subtle, healthy tinge of pink spread across the sloping planes of Merlin’s back, and Arthur wanted to map the curves with his hands, feel the warmth under his fingertips.

When Merlin bent over to take off his boots, Arthur could see the knobs of his spine, each little jutting bone leading a suggestive path down to Merlin’s arse.

Dear God. Was that the beginning of an arse crack or was Arthur’s hopeful brain playing tricks on him?

Arthur swallowed down the tortured whimper rising in his throat and spun around, returning to his task. He knew how buttons worked, of course he did. However, his fingers suddenly felt too big and clumsy to manage it.

He heard the twin thuds of Merlin’s boots, and then more humming as Merlin padded around the room blowing out candles. He even heard the soft little “ _hoo_!” as Merlin did it, and his stupid brain easily supplied the image of Merlin’s lips puckering into a delicate “o,” only adding to his misery.

 

By the time Merlin finally came near to blow out the candle in front of Arthur, Arthur had finished with his buttons and was about to shrug out of his own top, but hesitated at the sight of Merlin suddenly in his vision again. Merlin’s lips did indeed pucker as he prepared to blow out the candle, light from the flame flickering across his angular features, but the exhalation of breath didn’t come. Instead, he seemed frozen, the only mobile part of his body being his eyes, which lowered to Arthur’s chest and stayed there.

Not that Arthur noticed much. His own gaze was drawn to Merlin, the two nipples that were pebbled and hard from the cold, as well as the straight, dark hairs on the otherwise smooth surface of his stomach, another path that lead straight down to where Arthur wanted to touch.

Arthur’s trousers were not nearly loose enough to hide the problem that was currently making itself known, but luckily Merlin acted before Arthur could embarrass himself. He blew out the final candle—needing to blow twice, since the first only made the flame dim—and cast the room in nothing but soft moonlight. Without a word, he spun on his heel and started humming again as he walked back around the bed.

Arthur let himself breathe a quiet sigh of relief as he shrugged out of his top. There was no table on this side of the room as there was on Merlin’s, so he simply let it fall to the floor. As he removed his boots, he heard the rustle of fabric that was Merlin slipping under the duvet. And then he was reminded.

Now he had to share a bed with him.

At least he knew how Merlin was sleeping—in just his trousers. Fuck, was Merlin not wearing pants either? That didn’t do anything to help Arthur’s situation.

Arthur practically ran to the bed, pulling up the duvet and sliding under. Thankfully, Merlin was lying on his side, his back to Arthur once again, so he hadn’t witnessed Arthur’s frantic behaviour. Now there was just the matter of positioning.

The bed _was_ large, but Merlin had situated himself nearly in the centre. Maybe he was like Arthur in that he had an irrational fear of falling off the edge, because he tended to move a lot in his sleep. Despite the tension, Arthur smiled a bit at the thought. He could just imagine Merlin’s gangly limbs flailing all over the bed in a graceless display of sleeping.

Arthur tried to compromise, lying not too close to neither the edge nor Merlin, and raised his knees up as he curled on his side. He closed his eyes, willing his heart to stop pumping so furiously.

Only a single minute passed when Arthur suddenly thought he felt something touch him. He tensed, his eyes snapping open, and was almost certain there was a subtle shift in weight on the bed.

He held his breath and—yes, that was it. Merlin had moved, just a little, one of those prominent knobs in his spine touching Arthur’s. Arthur felt hot all over at the realisation, the hairs on the back of his neck raising up. He pressed back—not a lot, only a bit—just to be certain he hadn’t been imagining it.

He was met with solid warmth, and that was definitely Merlin he was feeling. Merlin didn’t jerk away, so Arthur stayed put, the curve of each of their backs touching. Arthur was even seriously contemplating trying to push the boundary a little more when Merlin did it first, shifting slightly so their lower backs pressed together as well. Arthur wondered if Merlin’s pulse was racing as quickly as his. It certainly seemed like Merlin wanted this as much as he did.

But should he keep going? He wanted to, he _so desperately_ wanted to. His cock was hard, pushing against the confines of his trousers, and Merlin’s skin on his made his whole body thrum with the desire to turn over and fuck Merlin senseless. Did Merlin’s inane babble extend to sex?

Arthur was unprepared to hear Merlin’s voice, and he jumped a little as it cut through the silence, even though the tone was soft.

“I’m sorry for making it your business.”

Arthur had certainly not expected to hear that, not at a moment like this. Shit, had Arthur misjudged? He’d completely forgot that this was a suicidal man he was dealing with, and immediately felt guilty for almost taking advantage. It most likely wasn’t sex Merlin wanted at all, but just innocent physical comfort.

Merlin didn’t say anything else, not to clarify what the impromptu touching meant and definitely not to further acknowledge how they met or what may have happened to them. Merlin probably didn’t want Arthur to acknowledge it either. Still, Arthur had to say something.

“I’m glad you made it my business,” Arthur said, because he was.

Merlin sighed and pushed back into Arthur completely, aligning their spines. Arthur could feel the tension leave Merlin’s body as Merlin settled in to sleep, even though he himself was still hard and about as awake as he’d ever been.

But now that Merlin had brought it up, the thoughts and worries flooded in. What would happen when he fell asleep? Would he wake up still in Albion with Merlin at his back? Would he wake up in a different heaven, parted from Merlin? Maybe he wouldn’t wake up at all, and there’d be nothing but darkness. Maybe he’d wake up as a ghost, looking down at his and Merlin’s bodies on the pavement back in London.

Merlin’s touch still had Arthur’s veins buzzing, but he fretted so thoroughly about what would occur the next day that his arousal had long since fled. He was now not only unable to go to sleep, but afraid to.

Arthur rolled over without a second thought, pulling Merlin close because he suddenly needed something to hold onto. Merlin was already asleep by then, but woke up just enough to purr contentedly and settle back into Arthur’s embrace. Arthur was infinitely relieved, happy even, when his abrupt action wasn’t met with rejection.

So Arthur relaxed, forcing out all thoughts of evil Red Queens that ate raw hearts and the possibility of an eternally dark afterlife. Right now he had Merlin, the brilliant, beautiful, Mad Warlock of Albion, and that was all that mattered.

~ ~ ~

Arthur awoke to the sound of loud knocking and quickly realised two things. 1) His head was on Merlin’s chest—his cheek on Merlin’s left nipple to be exact—while his right arm was heavily draped over Merlin’s waist. 2) He was still in Albion.

He didn’t have much time to process these realisations though, because the pounding on the door was accompanied by a stern male voice, declaring, “The Red Queen requests your presence at once in the dining hall!”

Merlin rubbed his eyes and groaned, and Arthur felt the humming vibration through his skin. Merlin didn’t seem to notice—or perhaps he just didn’t mind—that Arthur still lay practically on top of him.

“I hope we don’t have to eat hearts for breakfast,” Merlin said, raising his arms and stretching.

Arthur opened his mouth to speak but no words came out. How could someone look so amazing even when just waking up?

The knocking started up again, and Merlin huffed in annoyance. “Yes, we’re awake, thank you, now please sod off!” he yelled. The banging stopped and the man’s footsteps faded down the corridor.

Arthur was still a little stunned by Merlin’s non-reaction, and he quite liked being this close to Merlin, so he didn’t move just yet. He was even more surprised when Merlin smiled down at him, one of his face-splitting, slightly manic grins, and said, “Morning.”

 _Words, Arthur, you know a few, don’t you?_ Arthur thought.

“Morning.”

“I suppose we ought to get up soon or the Red Queen will have our heads.”

Was that a genuine reminder or a subtle dismissal? Arthur couldn’t tell, but Merlin seemed happy enough, definitely not displeased with the current position, so there was that. At the very least, their friendship was intact.

“Yeah,” Arthur said, nodding. He reluctantly pushed himself up to get dressed.

As they walked down the grim corridor a few minutes later, Merlin whispered, “Remember, don’t let her find out you’re the King. She’ll have you executed for sure, and take Excalibur for herself. If this breakfast goes the way I hope it does, we’ll simply discuss the train and what to do about it, then be on our way.”

Arthur nodded. They walked a little further, then after passing two knights, Arthur leaned over and whispered himself. “Should I try to kill her?”

Merlin eyed him, more than a little surprised. He gave Arthur a quick once-over, as though seeing Arthur in a new light and doing a bit of re-evaluating. Arthur didn’t mean to actually try killing her. Not today at least. It had honestly been a simple question, asking Merlin’s thoughts on the matter.

“Let’s not be too hasty,” Merlin said, chuckling a little. “The Queen is heavily guarded, and anyway, we’re not here for that. There’ll be plenty of time for queenslaying after we’ve dealt with the threat to Albion.”

Arthur shrugged. “That’s fine with me. I don’t even know if I _can_ kill the queen, and not just because of my inexperience.”

Merlin gave him a queer look, raising an eyebrow to urge Arthur to go on.

“Merlin, she…The Queen looks like my sister.”

Merlin’s eyes widened a bit and his step faltered briefly but he continued walking. “She’s not your sister,” he said.

“Yes, but she _looks_ like her.”

“But she’s _not_. They’re two completely different people and you should keep that in mind. The Red Queen won’t hesitate to kill either of us if given the right opportunity.”

Arthur frowned. “I suppose so.” He waited a few seconds before asking the question on his mind. “Is there…anyone here that looks like someone you know?”

There had to be at least one person, but Merlin kept walking as though he hadn’t heard Arthur’s question at all, and Arthur figured it was probably because it was too close to asking about the real world. However, when they reached the large doors of the dining hall, Merlin paused with his hands raised, palms pressed flat against the dark wood. He kept his eyes down, long eyelashes sweeping up as he took a shallow breath.

“The White Queen looks like my ex-girlfriend,” he said quietly.

Before Arthur could reply, or even fully process the answer, Merlin pushed the doors open and walked in. Arthur could do nothing but follow.

Morgana— _No, not Morgana, the Red Queen_ —was seated at the head of a long table. Not quite unexpectedly, there was a heart on her plate, but appeared to be cooked, as did the liver beside it. It wasn’t only meat in front of her though; in fact, there was toast with butter on a smaller plate next to a silver cup.

The Knave was seated on her left, and it was his plate that made Arthur sigh in relief. He had a more traditional breakfast of eggs and bacon, so Arthur was glad they wouldn’t have to eat what were no doubt the people who had come to complain about the train the previous day.

A servant pulled out the chairs on the Queen’s right, and they sat down, Merlin closest to her. The same servant came back quickly with a jug to pour water into their goblets, while another appeared to set plates down in front of them. Arthur began eating as soon as they were out of the way, not having had a proper meal in what felt like ages.

“I trust you’re well-rested now?” the Queen asked, arching a brow as she raised her cup to her blood-red lips.

Merlin, since he didn’t have his mouth full, smiled and said, “Oh, yes, quite.”

“Excellent. You should know then that the train reappeared last night. My sentries tell me that it was spotted flying over the river before doubling back and heading over the faeries’ forest. A group of knights who recently returned from patrolling said it had been by your tower as well.”

Merlin blanched, and Arthur saw his fingers wrap tightly around his fork.

“It’s still perfectly intact,” she assured him. “The train merely neared it. The wood in the surrounding area is quite devastated, however.”

Arthur felt his heart sink. He hadn’t paid much attention to the thick forest he’d travelled through in order to get to the clearing that held Merlin’s tea party, since it was mostly all green green green. But he knew it had been beautiful nonetheless, and couldn’t help but feel more than a little sad that the place was ruined now.

And if _he_ was feeling that way, Merlin had to be feeling a thousand times worse. The droop of Merlin’s shoulders and the slight furrow of his brow indicated Arthur wasn’t wrong.

“Yes, it’s a tragedy all around,” the Queen said. “So you’d better have some idea of how to stop it, if not with magic, then with something else.”

Arthur hastened to answer this time, giving Merlin a moment to collect himself and maybe even get a bite of food of his own. “We’re not sure where it came from, but we think it might be from outside of Albion.”

“I don’t care where it came from, I just want it gone!”

“Yes, of course. So, er, perhaps we could try to stop it by getting on and finding some sort of controls.”

It was a long shot, Arthur knew, but he had to throw _some_ idea out there. The Red Queen was under the impression that they’d been brainstorming the day before, after all.

“And how do you plan to get on if it barrels through the air nonstop at such a tremendous speed?”

“We were guessing that it has to stop at some point. If it disappears for minutes or hours at a time, it has to be parked somewhere. Underground, perhaps.”

The Queen nodded thoughtfully, pursing her red lips a little. “One can’t have a train without a train station.”

“Precisely.”

“We might be able to send it through the tunnel in the Andorian Mountains,” Merlin began, swallowing a mouthful. “We’d just have to hope it doesn’t come back.”

The Queen made a displeased face at that. “I’d much rather the train crashed into the mountains and be destroyed once and for all.”

Merlin froze with a forkful of egg halfway to his mouth. “What about the wilddeoren living inside?”

She waved the matter away. “They’re pests anyway, and the land would be much better without them. This train has caused countless casualties already, how much could a few rat deaths hurt?”

It was obvious that Merlin thought the same as Arthur. Such a resolution was loathsome to consider, even if the wilddeoren _were_ simply rodents that used to feed on human flesh. How would the sleepy Lord William feel about his creatures taking the hit for the whole kingdom when it could be otherwise avoided?

Arthur was at a loss, so he relied on Merlin, shooting him a look that said, _Think of something!_

After swallowing again, Merlin perked up and said, “Well, if we can’t stop it manually, and we don’t send it through the mountains—or crash it into them—then the last option would be to take it apart with magic.” He wiggled his fingers and grinned as though letting her in on a secret.

The Queen raised a brow. “What do you mean by ‘take apart?’”

Merlin laughed as though it should have been obvious, and waved his arms around as he spoke. “I’d disassemble it! I’d scatter each and every piece across the land, burrowing them deep into the ground or high into the sky until it burnt up in the sun. Until there’s no chance of it ever coming back!”

“Why is that not the first option?”

Arthur’s heart leapt into his throat at the same time Merlin glanced his way. What would happen when she heard the news? Would both of them have outlived their usefulness and quickly lose their heads?

Arthur slowly curled his fingers around the knife beside his plate.

Merlin’s smile faltered, but he managed to keep it up at least a bit. “I’m…I’m not sure I’d be able to do it just now,” he said hesitantly. “I’m having a bit of…trouble controlling my magic at the moment. But I’ve still got plenty of it, I can assure you!”

“ _You_?” the Queen said in disbelief. “The Warlock of Albion, authority over all things magical, and you can’t control your own magic?”

“He’s working on it,” Arthur insisted hurriedly. “He’s very nearly got a handle on it now, haven’t you, Warlock?”

Merlin’s mouth opened and shut like a gaping fish. “I—I—Um—Yes, of course, I have,” he finished, nodding with a wide smile.

“We shall see,” the Queen stated, leaning back, cup in hand. “He’ll be put to the test in the garden. Then we shall see.”

~ ~ ~

“Bring these flowers to life,” the Red Queen ordered when they were in the garden.

Merlin had been a giggling bundle of twitchy nerves and jumpiness the whole walk out here, and it was all Arthur could do not to lay his hands on Merlin’s shoulders and tell him to calm down. It didn’t help that the Knave was standing tall and regal beside them, a silent guardian as usual. Agravaine had always kind of creeped Arthur out at home as well.

Merlin reached out to cup a dead rose with trembling hands. He glanced at Arthur, who nodded, and swallowed audibly. “I can do it, I’m the Warlock, I can do it,” he muttered to himself.

“Quit being so nervous,” the Queen said. “Do you _want_ me to execute you?”

Merlin squeaked. “N-No, Your Majesty.”

“Then bring these flowers to life!”

Arthur fought the urge to snap at her. Couldn’t she see this was hard enough for Merlin already?

Merlin took another breath, trying to steady his hands. His thumbs grazed the shrivelled petals, touching them almost reverently. Arthur waited, just as the Queen did, to see what would (or wouldn’t) happen.

Slowly, the flower began to rise from its wilting droop. The blackened stem gained the tiniest hint of deep green, and a few leafy buds started poking out of the side. Arthur stopped himself from taking a step back. He remembered what had happened last time, but didn’t want to risk Merlin losing focus.

Arthur’s precaution proved unnecessary. Just after the flower petals started to lose their crisp, shrivelled look, the plant suddenly wilted again.

“No!” Merlin cried. He looked to the Red Queen, who seemed decidedly unimpressed. “I can do it, I can, just—Let me try again.” He turned back to the flower, furrowing his brow in deep concentration.

 _Come on, Merlin, come on, come on,_ Arthur willed him.

It was almost like Merlin heard him. His eyes went to Arthur again, though this time the look was much more desperate. Arthur took a step closer, leaning in to whisper in Merlin’s ear. The angle was a bit awkward because of the hat, and it must have appeared like he was going to kiss Merlin’s cheek at first, because the Queen cocked a curious eyebrow. Arthur ignored her, focusing only on Merlin.

“You’re not just someone that does magic, Merlin. You _are_ magic. You’re the Warlock of Albion. You can do this, I know you can.”

Arthur stepped away, smiling encouragingly, and Merlin beamed back at him. He returned his gaze to the flower, his jaw set purposefully, and his eyes sparkled with determination.

Like before, it took a few seconds, but then it began to slowly rise again. The green in the stem came back, the leafy buds sprouted, and tips of the thorns seemed to shine from how sharp they were. The petals themselves fanned out and grew soft, turning greyer and greyer until they were finally pure white.

It was almost as bright as Merlin’s smile.

“I did it!” Merlin exclaimed excitedly, the Red Queen and Knave utterly forgotten. He grabbed Arthur’s arm, jumping up and down as he pointed to the white rose. “Arthur, I did it!”

“Of course you did it,” Arthur said, grinning back at him. Merlin’s excitement was catching, and Arthur felt light as air. If there weren’t knights and servants and scary hulking royals present, Arthur would have hugged him. Merlin seemed to be only barely refraining from hugging Arthur as well.

The Red Queen cleared her throat and Merlin twisted his neck to look back at her. Arthur noted with unease that she didn’t look pleased. What now?

“My roses weren’t white before,” she stated simply, arms crossed over her chest. “They were red. Make it red.”

Arthur suddenly didn’t care at all if she _did_ look like his sister—he wanted to draw his sword and plunge it through her cold heart right then and there. What did it matter what colour the rose was? How could anyone look at the warm, satisfied smile on Merlin’s face and demand more of him?

Merlin didn’t seem to feel the same anger Arthur did. He simply started chewing his lip as he turned back to the rose, cupping it in his hands again.

Light swirls of pink began to appear in the petals, like paint being mixed together. The colour turned deeper and deeper, first in the centre and then spreading out to the furled edges. It went from pale pink, to pastel pink, to a sort of lavender, deepening by the second until it was almost magenta.

“That’s not red, that’s nearly purple!” the Queen shouted angrily. “Stop, stop it! You’re ruining it! Don’t you know your colours? Make it _red_!”

Merlin’s hands started shaking again. “I-I’m trying,” he said.

He was so obviously getting a bit flustered, whereas Arthur was just getting more and more angry. The purple rose was just as nice as any red one, maybe even nicer. Why couldn’t the stupid Queen see that?

The rose faded back to white as Merlin started over. This time it went from pale pink, to pastel pink, to peach, and then to a shockingly bright orange.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Merlin said, sounding as though he was near tears. “I know I can get it—”

“No, no, just leave it,” the Queen snapped. The rose went white again, as blank and pure as ever. Merlin stepped back with a heavy sigh. “Knave, fetch me that servant there,” she ordered, pointing across the garden.

Arthur wanted to comfort Merlin as he had in the dead forest, but again wasn’t sure how. If they were alone he might’ve dared to touch Merlin’s hand, but with the keen, fiery eyes of the Queen watching, he was at a loss.

Arthur settled for just words. “It’s okay, Merlin, I thought they were beautiful,” he whispered to him.

Merlin looked up at him miserably. “Thanks, Arthur, but it wasn’t right. I’m so useless.”

Before Arthur could get out a reply, the Queen barked, “Warlock! Come here and bring the rest of these roses to life.”

Arthur didn’t like her tone one bit, but tried not to let it bother him. He nudged Merlin and said, “See? Not useless. She still needs you.”

Merlin nodded, but still seemed a little downcast as he trudged over to the Queen. Arthur stayed behind, sitting on a nearby bench.

Merlin brought the other roses to life, first with considerable concentration and then with more ease. Some of his earlier excitement did return as his magic seemed to flow more naturally, and Arthur tried to push out the negative feelings he’d had before. The Queen _was_ helping in her own cruel way, and hopefully she deemed Merlin’s actions in the garden a success on her test. Now if Merlin could just stop and dismantle a whole train…

Nearly a whole section of the garden had been brought back to life when the Queen suddenly walked up to one of her knights and pulled his sword from the scabbard. Arthur’s pulse quickened. What was she going to do now?

She grabbed the arm of the servant she had ordered to follow her and slit his wrist open. Merlin leapt back in alarm, and Arthur gaped from where he sat on the bench.

He almost didn’t believe what he was watching when the Queen raised the bleeding wrist over the white rose, but then he remembered that he’d seen this same woman eat a raw heart in her throne room.

“Y-Your Majesty, I’m sure I can get it right if I try—”

“That won’t be necessary, Warlock. This servant has the exact shade of red I want, and _he_ can get it right the first time. I just hope he has enough for all of them.”

She shook the servant’s wrist, more droplets of blood tinging the rose deep crimson, then moved on to the next. She made another cut just below the first and gave each rose the same ghastly treatment, the servant squeezing his eyes shut from the pain but resolutely not making a noise.

Arthur couldn’t take this. How was Merlin not quivering with rage just as he was? Was he honestly so used to the Red Queen’s brutality, and simply expected nothing less? Was he really so frightened of her?

This was unforgivable. The servant was turning deathly pale, swaying from side to side as he struggled to remain upright, and nobody was doing anything to stop it. Such an act did _not_ belong in Merlin’s beautiful Albion.

Arthur bolted up and started striding across the garden. He didn’t know what he was going to do, but he couldn’t simply watch. He was halfway to where Merlin, the Queen, and the bleeding servant were standing, hand on the hilt of his sword, when suddenly a blade came from nowhere, threatening to slice his neck if he took another step. He froze in place and slid his eyes sideways to the owner of the weapon—The Knave.

Neither of them said a word, but Arthur glared, holding the Knave’s gaze steadily as he reluctantly moved his hand away from his blade. After Arthur took a step back, the Knave’s sword lowered, but a lingering moment of eye contact told Arthur that it wouldn’t take much for the threat to return.

Arthur’s attention was redirected to Merlin and the Queen when the unfortunate servant suddenly dropped to ground with a thud, his body limp and presumably lifeless. The Queen huffed in annoyance, and Merlin cast Arthur a worried glance.

“That will have to be enough for now, I suppose,” the Queen said haughtily.

Looking around, Arthur noticed a whole section of the garden had been brought to life, but only two rosebushes had flowers dripping with newly red colour.

“Now, to further test the extent of your power, I want you to change the size,” she demanded, walking back toward where Arthur stood. Merlin followed behind, his legs taking long strides to keep up with her quick royal gait. She pointed a slender finger at the rosebush. “Make it larger.”

Arthur couldn’t decipher Merlin’s expression. He looked partly pleased that he’d been able to do as much as he had already, troubled about the dead servant, sceptical about being able to change the size considering he couldn’t even get the colour right, and yet also madly hopeful, eager to try. When Merlin licked his lips, took a deep breath, and glanced at Arthur again, Arthur nodded encouragingly.

Merlin held his hands out in front of the flowers, shoulders squared and jaw set determinedly. After three seconds of nothing, Arthur looked at the Queen, where she was eyeing the rosebush intently.

That’s when he started feeling it—a tingling sensation in his limbs, like they’d fallen asleep and only just got feeling back. He shook his arms a little and ignored it, but then he noticed everything around him was getting bigger.

At first, Arthur thought Merlin had made the mistake of making _everything_ larger, not just the flowers. However, as he looked around—specifically as he looked to his left and saw the Knave staring down at him with raised brows—he realised it was _he_ who was getting smaller.

First he was at Merlin’s shoulder. Then his waist. Then his knee. Part of Arthur worried he’d keep shrinking until he blinked right out of existence. Which is when his heart started racing and he panicked, shouting Merlin’s name.

“Merlin!”

Merlin’s hands instantly dropped, and his head turned to look at where Arthur had just been moments ago, before snapping down to where Arthur was now, only as tall as the top of Merlin’s boot. His jaw dropped in shock, and he looked horrified at what he’d done.

“Arthur!”

Arthur scrambled onto Merlin’s foot, grasping at the buckles for leverage. He did _not_ like the look of the restless spiders next to the knights standing at attention, and it certainly didn’t help having the Knave looking down at him like he was just itching for an excuse to stomp his foot. Arthur clung to Merlin’s boot for dear life, hoping Merlin would be able to get him back to normal size.

“There, I knew you could do it,” the Queen said. “Now just reverse the spell on the flowers.”

“I’ve got to get Arthur back to his proper size first!” Merlin exclaimed.

And not a second too soon. One of the patrolling knights passed by and his eight-legged mount made unsettling eye contact with Arthur, its dripping mandibles looking not at all more pleasant from this angle. Arthur moved sideways, hiding himself from view behind Merlin’s ankle.

He panicked when he felt Merlin moving, then yelped at the sudden pressure around his middle. Everything happened so fast, the world blurring into shapes and colours, and for a moment Arthur thought he was going to be sick.

But Merlin had just picked him up, setting him down in the flat of his palm at chest level to peer at him closely. Arthur could see the pores in Merlin’s face, the short, stubbly hairs across his jaw, and even up into the darkness of Merlin’s nose.

Merlin was attractive, but this was _terrifying_.

“Hmm,” Merlin hummed thoughtfully. "That’s interesting. Luckily your clothes shrunk as well or you’d be completely starkers.”

Arthur thought he might‘ve blushed, but he was too concerned with not being swept back by the force of Merlin’s breath, which smelled of the breakfast they’d just ate. He held his arms out to the side, trying to get his balance, but Merlin didn’t have the steadiest of hands.

 

“Merlin!” Arthur squawked impatiently.

The Queen was impatient as well. “Get on with it, either the flowers or Arthur.”

Merlin’s eyes suddenly glowed. Arthur hadn’t noticed before, had never got a chance to look at Merlin’s eyes when he’d done magic, and from this size, appearing magnified, Arthur could see the swirl of gold overtake the blue. Not long after, he felt the tingling again, and he exhaled in relief as things started getting smaller around him.

Merlin set Arthur on the ground when Arthur was about the size of a kitten, taking a few steps back. It was only a few seconds before Arthur was his normal height again, at eye level with Merlin.

Then Merlin’s eyes widened. “Oh no.”

“Why isn’t he stopping?” the Queen asked.

Arthur looked around. He _wasn’t_ stopping. Things were still getting smaller, Merlin’s magic still doing its work. Arthur started panicking again.

“Merlin...”

Merlin looked just as flustered and worried as Arthur felt, and had started wringing his hand. “I...Um...Oh dear...”

“He’ll destroy my castle in a moment,” the Queen said, craning her neck back to look up at Arthur. “Stop growing this instant! You’ve no right to grow here!” She stomped her foot and pointed at Arthur accusingly.

“Merlin!”

Arthur saw a flash of gold again, and his ascent did seem to slow, but it didn’t stop. Arthur had to take a hesitant step back to avoid stepping on anyone, and he was impressed with the faceless knights’ composure, not budging from their positions even now.

The Knave, however, did briskly walk to stand behind the fountain.

“Warlock, I demand you make him stop!”

It took another few tries, and Arthur was worried he’d never stop growing, but at last he did. By that time, the Queen and everyone else barely came up to Arthur’s knees. Arthur could see over the stone walls of the garden; in fact, the top of the walls were at his waist. He felt a bit like he was standing in a life-size doll house, but with living people in place of dolls.

The Queen, of course, was furious. Her pale face had gone an angry red, and she continued to stomp her feet on the ground as she yelled at Merlin. “Change him back to normal right now, or I’ll have you both executed on the spot!”

Merlin squeaked and scurried onto Arthur’s boot, clutching the laces. Arthur had to fight the urge to shake his foot, because it felt like an animal was crawling up him.

The Queen turned to the closest knight. “You! Bring me the executioner!”

“N-No, Your Majesty, that’s really not—”

“Off with their heads!” she cut Merlin off angrily.

Arthur looked down at the commotion in bewilderment, feeling his pulse begin race anxiously again. The black, shadowy dolls were starting to swarm, the Queen doll was still screaming “Off with their heads!”, and the Merlin doll was trying to climb up Arthur’s trouser leg while also holding onto his hat, which wasn’t really working out for him.

Spurring into action, Arthur bent down and picked Merlin up, collecting Merlin’s hat as well when that fell. He took a few steps back when the knights and their spiders circled in, while also trying to make sure Merlin was okay. Merlin was a little shaken up, but seemed well enough considering he had the coherency to grip his hat, cling to Arthur’s thumb, and urge Arthur to put him on his shoulder.

Arthur did, placing Merlin gently, legs dangling over his collarbone, and returned his attention to the dark figures waving pointy sticks at him below. They were definitely looming close now, encircling around Arthur’s knees, and Arthur was starting to get a little annoyed.

Then the Queen started screaming, “How dare you cause such a display? In _my_ castle? You worthless warlock, with your worthless, air-headed farm boy—”

 _Air-headed farm boy?!_ Arthur thought angrily. _Worthless warlock?_ He suddenly didn’t care if she did look like his sister; she was more than just a little annoying—she was unbearable, and Arthur had had enough.

So he did what any rational, vexed beyond the limit person faced with a doll-sized nuisance would do.

He stepped on her.

He thought he would feel worse, but when the yapping stopped, he just felt relieved. There was a sickening crunch under his foot, which did bother him a bit, however, he didn’t have time to feel guilty for too long, because the knights started attacking in full force, swarming in on him like vicious, sword-bearing imps.

“Ow!” Arthur yelped when a blade pierced his boot and stuck his toe. He was lucky his boots covered his shins, and that their heads only reached his knees so they couldn’t get at his less-protected thighs, but it still felt like someone had stabbed him with a pin.

Something had somehow got on his head as well. Shortly after stepping on the annoying Red Queen, he’d felt a weight, something fitted around the top of his skull. He couldn’t take the time to inspect it now though; as Merlin was so loudly reminding him, there was still the Knave, Executioner, and countless knights to fend off.

“Are you holding on?” Arthur asked Merlin.

“Yes, yes, just kill them already! Use Excalibur if you have to!” Merlin shouted.

Arthur kicked some of the knights back, swinging his leg back and forth and sending them toppling. Stepping on them seemed the easiest course of action, but unlike the Queen, they wore armour, so some of them weren’t so easily crushed. Arthur unsheathed his sword and swung in wide arcs, steeling his nerves by telling himself that it was it was in self-defence, but otherwise too busy instinctively fighting for his life to be bothered by the violence of it.

Under normal circumstances, Arthur might’ve felt horrified. There was no small amount of blood, and their cries of pain sometimes made goosebumps break out across his skin. But Merlin kept saying, “Over there!” and “Watch out!” and encouraged Arthur to carry on, so Arthur kept making the effort to distance himself. If they weren’t so small, no doubt it would’ve been more difficult.

Merlin, on the other hand, was cheering and giggling excitedly when he wasn’t egging Arthur on. “Bow before the mighty King of Albion!” he shouted.

As Arthur stomped forcefully, making the ground quake and causing the knights nearest them to fall over, he had to chuckle as well. He hesitated before slashing through the Knave, and hesitated twice as long before doing the same to the Executioner, who’d finally come out of the castle to take off their heads, but forced himself not to dwell on it, not now when he couldn’t afford to take his mind off the task at hand.

He simply chanted, _It’s not real, it’s all a dream, not real, not real,_ in his head, and continued stomping around, swinging his sword with little to no finesse.

When at last all was still in the garden—or as still as it would get considering the flow of knights seemed to be endless—Arthur stepped over the stone wall, leaving the castle easily. He didn’t know where to put his sword, since sheathing it while it was dripping with blood seemed the wrong thing to do, and he didn’t know where to go, so he just stood there, listening to Merlin babble on about how awesome that had been.

Until he remembered the thing on his head, and reached up to take it off.

It was a golden crown with a delicate filigree, a fine tracery of loops and swirls spiralling around multifaceted emeralds and brilliant-cut sapphires that gleamed in the sunlight. It was the most precious, beautiful thing Arthur had ever seen, and he stared at it in awe.

“You’re the King!” Merlin exclaimed joyously from his shoulder. “You defeated the Red Queen! You saved Albion from her tyranny! Well, I suppose it was an accident on my part, but _you_ did it.”

Arthur put the crown back on his head, hoping it would shrink along with the rest of him when the time came. Now that he knew something so meaningful adorned his head, he felt odd walking around with it, like he ought to be more careful. What if it fell off?

 _If I really am King, I suppose I’ll be able to manage it in time,_ he pondered.

King of a dreamworld. The thought suddenly made him laugh, and he felt strangely like a boy again.

“What now?” Arthur asked Merlin.

Merlin grinned and pointed a finger to the sky. “To the White Queen’s castle!”

Arthur scanned the landscape. From this height, he could just make out the spires of what he assumed to be another castle in the distance. He glanced at Merlin for verification, who nodded.

After jumping the river, Arthur asked, “You _can_ change me back to normal, right?”

Merlin pursed his lips and furrowed his brow. After a moment—during which Arthur began to panic again—Merlin held out a hand.

Arthur was too busy staring at Merlin’s glowing eyes to see what Merlin was doing, but when he looked to his sword again, it was clean, glistening as though it were freshly polished.

“Think I’ll be able to manage it,” Merlin said, cracking his knuckles with a smile.

Arthur sheathed the blade and smiled back. “To the White Queen’s castle then.”


	5. Of the Mushroom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “In a Wonderland, they lie,  
> Dreaming as the days go by,  
> Dreaming as the summers die:  
> Ever drifting down the stream —  
> Lingering in the golden gleam —  
> Life, what is it but a dream?” 
> 
> \- Lewis Carroll, _Through the Looking-Glass_

The distance from one castle to the other, which would have taken a little more than day, would now only take hours with Arthur’s lengthened strides. From his current height, Arthur could see much more of Albion, across the whole barren wasteland of what used to be Mab’s forest, to Merlin’s tower which stood tall in the distance on his left.

On his right were the Andorian Mountains. Arthur hadn’t thought much about life here in the way of other people or citizens, and was surprised to see there was a sprawling city at the foot of the mountains. Arthur had an urge to meet them and see their houses, talk to them and see what they were like, but he knew there wasn’t time for it now. They _were_ , according to Merlin, in a time depression.

He could also see the new damage done by the train, not just near Merlin’s tower and the clearing in which they’d had tea, but stretching almost to Aithusa’s garden as well, and almost certainly it had visited the vale. After a while, Arthur made himself stop looking back over his shoulder, and soon after that, it was out of sight entirely, too small to make out.

He didn’t see the train itself. At first he thought that was a good thing, but then he began to doubt its existence. So many others had spoken of it, and its effect on the land were clearly visible, but who was to say that it wasn’t all in their nonsensical heads? Had _anyone_ seen the train, physically and with their own eyes? What if there was no train, and Albion was simply dying naturally, decaying from some other unknown magical source?

The train and the hope of defeating it were all Arthur had. In the face of uncertainty, of not knowing where he was or what was real, that one goal had anchored him. It was the one thing besides Merlin that he could be sure of. If Arthur lost the train, what was his purpose?

“My feet ache,” Arthur said after he’d been walking what he felt had to be at least two hours.

“We’re nearly there,” Merlin replied. He was clinging to Arthur’s collar as he switched shoulders yet again. Arthur stifled a shudder at the feeling of Merlin crawling along the back of his neck. “Another hour, I reckon.”

Arthur sighed. “Hungry, too,” he mumbled.

“She’ll feed us. There’s always loads to eat there.”

Arthur could feel Merlin plop down, dangling his feet over a collarbone once more. He fought the urge to glance sideways. Merlin’s tone had sounded much too...pleased for Arthur’s liking.

 _Because the White Queen looks like his bloody ex-girlfriend_.

Arthur sighed and tried to shake off the thought. He was not jealous, he was _not_ jealous...

He let his mind wander, from the unfamiliar weight of the crown on his head and all it entailed to his slaughter of dozens of people back at the Red Queen’s castle. He’d been trying not to linger too much on the latter, but he had always believed that the best way to approach a situation was head-on and rationally. He would have to address it sooner or later.

It’d been different in the heat of the moment, like a natural instinct he didn’t know he possessed. The sounds of bones crunching under his feet and the sight of limbs sliced off had been sickening. He knew in his mind that he’d been in the process of killing, but his body hadn’t had the visceral reaction he’d expected to have during or even after the fact.

He felt remorse, but he didn’t feel shame. The knights had been all dark and shadowy, black clouds of smoke in the place where their faces should’ve been, like they weren’t really people at all. And they’d been so small, it was like they weren’t even of consequence. If they’d been his size and he’d had to fight them fairly, would he better or worse? Had he finally used his logic and reason to rationalise his behaviour and convince himself into thinking that that massacre had been self-defence? Couldn’t he just have easily stepped over the stone wall earlier and ran away without engaging them?

But, would he still be King now if he hadn’t acted courageously? Would the Red Queen still be ruling unjustly over Albion, eating out the hearts of innocent people?

“Stop!” Merlin exclaimed suddenly, pulling Arthur out of his thoughts.

“What’s wrong?”

“Oh, nothing. But we’re close. I should probably shrink you to normal size so you don’t alarm anyone when we enter.” Merlin carefully stood up, holding onto a piece of Arthur’s shirt. “Put me on the ground so I don’t crush you.”

Arthur held out his palm near his shoulder and let Merlin jump into it. Remembering the rushing feeling of before, he moved Merlin slowly, gently back to the ground by his foot.

Anyone at the White Queen’s castle probably would have seen him anyway, as close as they were. It’d be impossible to miss something his size walking across the sloping plains. Probably even a view villagers had spotted him.

“Okay.” Merlin took a deep breath and rubbed his hands together. “I can do this.”

“This isn’t filling me with confidence.”

“Shut up, I’ve got this.”

Arthur snorted, but only for show. He was pleased, really, that Merlin was thinking of his abilities so positively. It was quite a step up from moping and mourning his supposed uselessness.

Arthur was too high up to see the golden flash of Merlin’s eyes, but he knew Merlin must have done something when he began feeling the tingling in his limbs again. Sure enough, things started to look less and less miniature as he became smaller and smaller, and he hoped he stopped at the right height this time.

“There we go,” Merlin said cheerily when the tingling ceased.

Arthur frowned and walked around Merlin a few times. Something wasn’t right.

“We were nearly the same height before,” he said. “My eyes are above yours now.”

Arthur thought he may have seen a blush on Merlin’s cheeks, but Merlin smiled wide enough that it could have been wild excitement for all he knew.

“Oh, yes, about that,” Merlin began quickly, raising a dignified finger to explain. “I’d been thinking, you know, about when the Red Queen called us worthless, particularly when she said you were a worthless, air-headed farm boy—”

“Oh?”

“Yes. And well, I thought perhaps since you don’t have any qualities that are immediately recognisable—”

“Pardon?”

“—that it would in your best interest to have a bit of a...an advantage. Height-wise, that is. It’s much more regal a look, trust me. And I promise everything is in, er, proportion. That is, your hands and feet fit the rest of your body.”

“So I’m as I was before, plus a bit extra?”

“Yes.”

Arthur flexed his hands and stretched his arms out in front of him. It felt like he had an itch all over. He shuddered, trying to shake it off.

“Think I’d like to be myself, if you don’t mind.”

“Are you sure?”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Yes, I’m sure. Are you saying there was something wrong with me before?”

“No, not at all!” Merlin’s eyes were so wide that Arthur was almost certain the colour on his cheeks _was_ a blush this time. “I just thought it was a bit unfair for me to be recognised as powerful and you as...as not. You’ve done so much for me—for Albion, I mean—and it’s not right that you should be overlooked. Worthless is such a terrible word, the worst word I can think of to describe anyone, and I know _I_ can be a bit hopeless but for her to have used it on you—”

“Merlin.”

Arthur put both hands on Merlin’s shoulders and met his eyes firmly. The blue spheres of Merlin’s irises had been flitting from place to place so nervously that they seemed to be vibrating again, and Merlin himself had seemed to start shaking.

“It’s fine. Yes, I was angry at being called that, but only because I knew it wasn’t true. I don’t need a few more centimetres just to make a more regal impression or feel better about myself. If I can’t prove that I’m not worthless on my own merit, then I might as well be.”

Merlin seemed speechless a moment—not too long, just two or three seconds of puzzled gaping. Then he stuttered, “R-Right, of course. Normal size it is then.”

Arthur didn’t even feel the familiar tingling because it happened so quickly, though the next time he blinked, he was at eye level with Merlin again.

“That’s better,” Arthur said, smiling. “Can we go on now? I really am quite hungry.”

Merlin chuckled. “You’re worse than a child.”

“So have you got your magic under control again?” Arthur asked as they began walking.

Merlin licked his lips, and Arthur couldn’t tell if the action was nervous or not, though to be honest, his mind leapt to other things at the flash of tongue.

“I think so,” Merlin replied. “I’m not sure I could take down the train just yet, and there’s still the chance that something could go horribly wrong, but it seems to be flowing much easier than it was.”

“That’s good.”

“Yes.”

The castle ahead of them didn’t look any larger than that of the Red Queen’s, not from the front anyway, but it was different in every other aspect of appearance. The first thing Arthur noticed was the spectacular colour, the shining white marble which gleamed in the fading sunlight, pure and unblemished from the lowest stone to the highest spire.

The second thing to catch his attention was the people. There were knights here as well—guardsmen adorned in silver chain mail and even some in full armour—but they looked far less intimidating than the shadowy figures that had lurked around the Red Queen’s grounds. And there were what Arthur could only guess were courtiers, people clad in clothes of the finest silk walking about and socialising.

Arthur dimly registered a third thing—the castle’s vegetation, which lined the walkway and consisted of flowers in an array of colours, in stark contrast to the pure white of everything else—but his focus danced over it back to the people. Their clothes, though evidently of high quality, were just as garishly coloured as the flowers and troops of speckled mushrooms they passed. He saw one woman wearing a silk dress that was a mesh of colours, one neon hue swirling into the next as she moved. He saw a man walking with the most pompous, dignified air imaginable sporting nothing but deep purple cotton trousers, no top, no hat, not even socks to adorn his bare feet.

If someone wasn’t seemingly arrogant, they were gregarious and smiling, and regardless of countenance, all were dressed as though they were meant to be some part of the rainbow, in blues, pinks, purples, oranges, and greens. Besides the knights, all glittering in their silver, Arthur couldn’t find a single person in any shade of black, white or grey.

It certainly made Merlin stick out.

But then, of course, Merlin hardly noticed. He was too busy smiling back at anyone who acknowledged him, nodding in recognition to those who were a bit more far off. Arthur had never felt more like an outsider, and _he_ was meant to be the King!

 _I’m not jealous_ , he thought bitterly. _I don’t need to know these strange people anyway. We’ll talk to the White Queen about the train and everything will be settled._

Arthur reached up and scratched under his crown. He didn’t want to seem like he was complaining, but wouldn’t they recognise such a symbol of authority? Surely, it deserved some sort of—

Who was he kidding? He couldn’t apply the rules of logic to anything here. For all they knew, he was wearing a shiny accessory.

Arthur could almost sense the shift in the air when they stepped inside the palace. He didn’t see the White Queen right away, not even after Merlin suddenly dropped to one knee beside him. But there was something to indicate to her presence, a static-y quality, perhaps, or a lightness to the air. Arthur looked around and finally found her standing to his left, in a tall archway that made her appear remarkably small.

Part of him had expected her to be all in white. Though another part of him had expected her to be just as albino as Aithusa, white hair and all. Why else call her the White Queen?

She wasn’t like that at all. Her hair was a deep chocolate brown, thick and curled at the ends, falling all the way to her waist. Her lips, as red as the Red Queen’s had been, reminded Arthur more of strawberries than of blood, more of sweetness than of sin. And her skin, though not smooth or perfectly clear like some otherworldly goddess, looked soft and creamy, like buttermilk.

Arthur wasn’t sure what to do.

Beside him, Merlin took off his hat and lowered his head.

“My Queen,” he said.

Arthur stifled the urge to roll his eyes. _Sodding ex-girlfriend queen._

It was only worse because she moved so fluidly, gliding across the floor in her slim white dress as though her feet weren’t on the ground at all. She struck Arthur as gentle but fierce, quiet but strong, and though she already irritated him to no end, he couldn’t help but admire such qualities.

He second-guessed his admiration when she bent down and pressed a kiss to Merlin’s cheek.

“I have no power in Albion, Warlock, you know this. I am a Queen in nothing but name.”

Even her voice was strong and clear, resonating powerfully throughout the hall.

“You have brought me the true ruler,” she continued, standing tall again and urging Merlin to stand with her.

Arthur was confused a moment, but then realised all of a sudden that she meant him. And indeed, she was staring right at him, smiling calmly.

Arthur hesitated a moment, still unsure of how to proceed, but then stuck his hand out. He figured one couldn’t go wrong with a handshake, surely?

“I’m Arthur,” he said firmly.

She didn’t shake his hand, but held it softly, almost intimately, in a way that Arthur was sure was making his face flush. Her gaze was so intense, so personal, as though she were seeing into his soul.

“Warlock’s knight. Albion’s saviour and salvation. Of course, I know who you are. An honour to meet you, King Arthur.”

Arthur didn’t understand half of what she said—he wasn’t anyone’s knight and calling himself Albion’s saviour seemed to be taking things a bit far—so he simply nodded, keeping his mouth shut to avoid saying anything stupid. On the whole, Merlin looked far too pleased.

“I know why you’ve come,” she said. “We’ve much to discuss but I expect you’ll want to bathe and eat first. Servants can take you to the bath and there’s plenty of food in the Great Hall.”

Four servants appeared in the entrance through which the Queen herself had come, two men and two women adorned in loose red clothing. One of each sex came up beside Arthur, the other pair beside Merlin, and they smiled warmly as they trailed delicate fingers over Arthur’s wrists, encouraging him to follow. Merlin seemed comfortable enough, so Arthur let them lead on.

The whole situation was more than Arthur had expected, something he’d associated with ancient Greece or Rome and not at all with today’s era. He’d never had someone bathe him before, and he’d certainly never shared a large bath with anyone else, let alone multiple people. He kept his eyes lowered the entire time, not looking up for anything, to save himself the embarrassment should his gaze land on Merlin.

But the servants whose hands glided over his skin were in no way unpleasant, and were certainly attractive. By the time their cupped hands began raising water to rinse off the soap, Arthur had relaxed enough to enjoy it. He imagined he could sit in the warm bath for days, without a care in the world.

Arthur felt much better once he finally got out, cleansed of the past couple days’ burdens. He felt fresh and revitalised, strong and ready for anything. When one of the servants left and came back with new clothes, Arthur hardly thought to question where they’d come from or if they would fit properly. He simply let himself be dressed, wondering if every day would be like this now that he was King.

Finally raising his eyes to Merlin once he was fully clothed, Arthur saw that Merlin had kept his old attire. Where Arthur had a loose navy tunic with a golden trim and deep brown trousers that cut off just below the knee, Merlin had his clothes of old, presumably cleaned with magic before having put them on.

After drying and brushing Arthur’s hair, the servants had reapplied Arthur’s crown, and likewise, Merlin’s hat was re-adorned, though it seemed to stand straighter and taller upon his head than before. The whites were more white and the blacks were more black.

Catching Merlin’s eye, Arthur looked him up and down obviously, then quirked a brow.

Merlin suddenly tucked an arm in, bowing low. “The Warlock of Albion at your service, Your Majesty,” he said, smiling deviously.

Arthur laughed at the absurdness of the moment, and shortly after, Merlin giggled as well.

One of the servants knelt before Arthur and offered him Excalibur, already polished and placed in its sheath. “Your sword, my King,” she said.

Arthur gave her a grateful smile and reached out to take it. He had wondered as much as anyone how it might feel to be treated as a monarch, but for it to actually happen was a slight bit awkward. He still wasn’t quite sure how to behave.

Perhaps he preferred running around Albion searching for runaway trains after all.

“Suppose you’re eager to get to the Great Hall now,” Merlin said once Arthur had his scabbard fastened.

Arthur’s stomach rumbled at the reminder of food. He nodded and ignored Merlin’s chuckle in favour of following the servants out of the room into the corridor.

The Great Hall was certainly great, with a row of long tables on either side and a large empty space in the middle. There seemed to be more food than anyone knew what to do with, which appeared to be perfectly fine since the faeries flitting around were enjoying themselves snatching things out of people’s hands.

However, not all seated at the tables—or even standing idly about—were what Arthur might call “people.” There was one strange creature who had the body of a man but the head of a fish, and another who seemed to be horse—hooves, tail, and all—but with the stature of a woman. A purple waistcoat draped off the shoulders of the fish-man while a pink, flowery skirt swayed about the knobby knees of the horse-woman.

Everyone they’d seen on the way in had been most decidedly human, Arthur was sure of that. Now it was as though he’d been dropped into a science fiction novel, on an alien planet.

“Warlock!” someone exclaimed, catching Arthur’s attention. It turned out to be a man thankfully rather humanoid, the only thing different about him being that his face was a bit furry and he had cat whiskers.

As Arthur and Merlin went to sit in two open chairs by him, Arthur realised the whiskers weren’t the only feline attribute about him. His ears, too, were pointed and soft on the outside, just barely poking out from underneath his stringy brown hair.

“Lord Gwaine,” Merlin greeted the man with a warm smile. Arthur already didn’t like him based on Merlin’s familiar tone. “Still here, I see.”

“You know not to use a title with me, Warlock,” Gwaine said, pulling out Merlin’s chair for him to sit. Arthur was therefore forced to take the empty seat across from him. “It’s been a while since you’ve graced us with your majestic presence.”

“I’ve had things to attend to.” Merlin grabbed a plate from the centre of the table and began heaping food onto it, so Arthur began doing the same.

“The same things as always, I expect—”

“Gwaine—”

“Fun tomorrow and fun yesterday but never fun today, eh? You _say_ you’ll visit but you hardly ever leave southern Albion—”

“I’ve been to Andora loads of times to offer magic lessons at the school!” Merlin protested. Arthur had no idea where Andora was, but considering the only city he’d seen was at the foot of the Andorian Mountains, he was willing to bet that was the name of it.

“You’re always working,” Gwaine continued. “It’s no wonder your magic rebelled against you; I would too after being in constant use.”

“Who told you about that?”

Gwaine tilted his chin up, flaring his nostrils in a display of dignity Arthur found utterly ridiculous. “Us cats know everything, you know,” he declared.

Merlin rolled his eyes. “You heard it from the faeries then.”

“Maybe I did. No matter where I heard it from, it’s no less true. And It’s your own fault your magic stopped working. Should’ve come here and had a bit of fun, taken a break from your travelling Warlock ways.”

Merlin tore off a bite of bread and shook his head. “Magic is everything to me. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Because I’m ‘apathetic and hedonistic?’”

Merlin winced slightly, just enough that Arthur caught it. He figured it must have been due to Gwaine’s tone. The words had the underlying weight of past conversations about them.

“Let’s speak of something else,” Merlin said after swallowing. “I didn’t sit with you to be lectured again. What’s been going on at the castle while I’ve been away?”

Arthur shifted his attention elsewhere, not wanting to intrude on the conversation but also a bit annoyed that Merlin hadn’t bothered to introduce them to each other. He could only hope that it wasn’t because Merlin found him unworthy of being introduced, but because he thought Gwaine unworthy of knowing _him_. Though the two seemed to be friends, it was almost as if Merlin was simply putting up with Gwaine.

Arthur’s attention ended up shifting to none other than Lord William of the Wilddeoren. Arthur wasn’t sure it was him at first, but after squinting a bit he saw it was indeed the mousy man from the tea party, looking as sleepy as ever. He was hunched over a chessboard, sitting across from what looked like a lioness. As Arthur watched, William slowly slumped forward, his eyelids drooping, until at last he face-planted onto the board, displacing the pieces. Arthur laughed as the lioness began rearranged the board with deft paws.

“...and poor Simmons the Turtle forgot who he was again, going around calling himself Phineas the Lobster,” Gwaine was saying across from him. “At least he had enough wits to know both have shells...”

Just as Arthur was looking back to his plate, he happened to catch Merlin’s gaze. Merlin quickly looked away though, back to his own food and then to Gwaine, nodding with apparent interest at Gwaine’s words. Arthur couldn’t place the feeling—they’d never been so awkward with each other before, had they?—so he shrugged off the occurrence and returned to eating.

On one unfortunate occasion, Arthur nearly had his own bite of mash stolen right off his fork while it was on the way to his mouth. He waved his other hand in front of his face instinctively, swatting away the pesky faeries. The ones here were much more misbehaved than those in the vale, and much more annoying.

“Are you mad?” Arthur suddenly heard above his head. “That was the King of Albion you nearly put your grubby little hands on!”

Arthur looked up and saw two faeries hovering above him, one a male with a shock of red hair and a guilty expression and the other a female with a long black braid down her back, looking decidedly disappointed. Their constantly fluttering wings made it a bit hard for Arthur to tell, but he thought even the faeries here were better dressed, certainly not in the same cloth rags those in the forest wore. Their skin was paler, like gleaming porcelain, and their builds seemed larger, as if they were more well-fed.

 _I can certainly see why,_ Arthur thought wryly.

The one with red hair noticed Arthur looking up at them, and darted away with a surprised squeak. The girl, however, though she blushed, was much more bold; she flew gracefully down beside Arthur’s shoulder so he wouldn’t have to strain his neck to look at her.

“Forgive my brother Malen,” she said, her high voice twinkling much closer to Arthur’s ear. “He didn’t recognise you.”

“I didn’t realise I was recognisable,” Arthur replied. “Unless the White Queen made an announcement?”

She shook her head. “No need for an announcement. It’s all across Albion that the Red Queen is dead and it’s the rightful King that’s done it. Among us faeries anyway.”

“Oh.”

_Of course. Word spreads fast among faeries._

Arthur wondered what else she knew about him.

“Can I see it?” she asked suddenly. “Excalibur, that is.”

“I probably shouldn’t draw it with so many people around.”

“Oh, but nobody would mind! Nobody’d pay attention at all!” she exclaimed excitedly. Her wings fluttered quicker and Arthur thought he saw a cloud of shimmering dust fall around her, but it faded too fast for him to be certain. “You’re the King, you can do what you please.”

Arthur looked around the crowded hall, at the various creatures eating or socialising, and considered a moment. He supposed it would only take a moment, then he could return to his food.

Nodding, Arthur stood up. He glanced around as he put a hand on the hilt of his sword, but nobody—not even Merlin—was paying him any mind. After another moment’s hesitation, Arthur slowly withdrew the sword from its wooden sheath.

He held it flat, with the blade across his hands in front of him. It shone softly in the candlelight of the hall, the metal glistening only where the light caught it best. The hilt looked particularly golden, almost molten but still unbelievably solid.

Arthur glanced around again; no one had moved.

The black-haired faerie alighted gently onto the blade, placing first one small foot on it then the other. She stared into the reflection just as the one in Aithusa’s garden had done, mesmerised.

“Careful,” Arthur warned.

She threw him a smile that said she knew to be careful, and found his warning a bit cute. Arthur simply raised his brows.

A flash of red in his peripheral vision made him look to the left. It seemed the other faerie, this one’s brother, had come back to investigate. He flew shyly closer and closer, until Arthur shrugged and tilted his head in the direction of the sword in his hands.

It was when Arthur was in the process of looking back to the faerie twirling across Excalibur’s surface that he saw Merlin staring at him. Gwaine was still rambling in Merlin’s ear about something or other, but Merlin’s gaze was forward, on Arthur, and after a few seconds of what Arthur felt was tense eye contact, Merlin suddenly smiled. Arthur didn’t realise his own lips had somehow curled up until he felt a light weight on his shoulder, and he quickly cleared his throat to address what had to be another meddling faerie.

It was. It wasn’t either of the ones from before—no, they were still enthralled by the sword—but a newcomer, a male with his stringy brown hair pulled back into a ponytail and his long blue tunic belted across the waist.

“You know,” he said, laying leisurely out along Arthur’s shoulder, “I’ve a cousin who lives in a dragon’s garden.”

“Oh?”

It was almost amusing, actually. This one seemed proud and arrogant, wholly unlike the other faeries Arthur had met so far. Arthur suddenly wondered if there were books written on the species, if there was lore he could read to learn more about them.

“Aye,” the faerie continued. “And she said the King fancies the Mad Warlock.”

Arthur knew he was blushing, he just knew he was, but he made an attempt to remain outwardly unfaded all the same.

“Did she now?”

The faerie nodded, smirking and obviously pleased with himself, much to Arthur’s annoyance. “It’s practically common knowledge. Though us castle faeries are much more civilised than those vale creatures and would never—Hey!”

He suddenly flew away, almost too quickly for Arthur’s eye to follow. But Arthur did manage to track the glow across the table to— _Oh God no_ —where another faerie was whispering something in Merlin’s ear, her expression much too mischievous for Arthur’s liking.

At least the arrogant faerie seemed to be good for something. He was currently trying to pull her away, angrily tugging on the back of her red dress. Arthur watched, holding his breath, but it was too late—Merlin’s eyes had gone wide, a blush blooming over his cheeks.

Arthur put Excalibur back in its sheath, sending the faerie siblings fluttering away, and promptly took his seat again. He wouldn’t say anything. If he just went back to eating and didn’t acknowledge it, they could carry on as normal, and Arthur could avoid any embarrassment, or worse, rejection.

When Arthur dared to look up again, Merlin’s attention had returned to Gwaine. He wasn’t sure if he was relieved or disappointed.

~ ~ ~

By the time they finally entered the chamber of the White Queen, the sun had been set for almost two hours. Arthur had been instructed to leave his sword in his room, where he was assured it would be safe. One of the older serving girls also suggested he lock his crown away, as night-time in the castle tended to be a bit more lively.

“Lively?” Arthur had echoed.

“She means wild,” the younger servant had clarified, stepping forward with a grin and gently removing Arthur’s crown. “There are plenty of festivities to be had here, and they can certainly become riotous.”

“Oh.”

Arthur didn’t think he was going to be engaging in any “wild” festivities—the plan was to address Merlin’s magic and the train—but he had let them place the headpiece next to Excalibur in a secure location anyway. Though they had told him again and again that it was unnecessary; no one would dare steal anything in the White Queen’s castle—no one even had the inclination, save the faeries, devious little wretches—and even if they would, they wouldn’t dream of doing so from the true King of Albion.

Now Arthur was on the balcony just off the White Queen’s rooms, overlooking the garden with Merlin and the Queen herself. Merlin had left his hat in his own room as well, and Arthur couldn’t stop staring at the thick, unruly, dark curls atop Merlin’s head that he’d got so used to only catching a glimpse of. In his hat, Merlin looked simply young and childish; without it, as before, he seemed old and young at the same time.

Arthur tried to remember the first time he’d seen Merlin, outside of Albion, and what his hair had looked like—if it had been parted to one side or just as untamed as it was now—and found he couldn’t. He remembered Merlin’s eyes, his trembling lips and hands, and his wavering voice, but not a thing else about the man’s appearance overall.

The same way Arthur couldn’t stop staring at Merlin, Merlin didn’t seem able to stop staring at the Queen—much to Arthur’s annoyance. She’d changed into sheer white clothing, her nudity underneath as obvious as Aithusa’s had been. But the Queen’s breasts were larger, fuller, her hips more curved and her legs more slender and lean. Where Merlin didn’t seem to have a single problem addressing Aithusa, he couldn’t seem to keep his eyes from darting all over place in the Queen’s presence.

Arthur tried not to scowl, but it was becoming more and more difficult.

Merlin, at least, also seemed to understand that there were things to be discussed, things much more important than beautiful White Queens and their perky, round nipples. Though his eyes darted from place to place, he did try to stay focused on the topic.

At least there was that.

“Let us start with the most pressing matter then, shall we?” she said. “You wish to know about the train destroying Albion.”

“Yes,” Merlin said. “How often does it appear, can it be stopped, where did it come from—”

The Queen raised a hand. “You speak ignorantly, Warlock.”

Arthur didn’t mean to burst out laughing—it simply erupted out of him. Merlin shot him a dark look, and Arthur shrugged.

“You believe the train to be winding aimlessly around Albion—this is not the case,” she went on, smiling despite the interruption. “It has a destination, and you must find out what it is.”

“But _how_?”

“You mustn’t defeat it—no, it _can’t_ be defeated. You must confront it. Give up trying to stop it, and board it. Embrace it. And your knight must go with you for strength,” she added, nodding at Arthur.

Arthur blinked. _What?_

Merlin wasn’t nearly so speechless or confused, it seemed. “How will I find it, how will I board it? Is there a station?”

The Queen shook her head. “Not every train needs a station, just as not every man needs a fixed home. You know what you must do to find the train.”

Arthur looked at Merlin expectantly, but Merlin had gone silent, staring down at his hands thoughtfully. His brows were drawn together, though in what expression Arthur couldn’t quite make out.

“What is it?” Arthur asked.

“It’s nothing,” Merlin replied automatically. “We’ll find another way.” He looked up at the Queen. “I’m not powerful enough to do what you’re suggesting. I’ve only just a grasp on my magic again, and there’s no way I’m ready for that kind of spell.”

“If you wait for the train to come to you, or take too much time trying to retrain your magic, it will be too late,” she said. “Albion won’t just be ruined; it will be destroyed. It will cease to exist.”

Cease to exist? How was that possible? Even water that dried up returned to the atmosphere in the form of water vapour. A whole world couldn’t just vanish, could it? It wasn’t possible for anything to go from being something to being nothing. It just wasn’t!

Still, Arthur said nothing. Now probably wasn’t the time to point out—once again—their flawed logic, and he doubted they would answer him anyway. Or if they did, he’d just understand the answer even less than the question.

“It doesn’t matter,” Merlin said. “It’s not going to work. I can do small things but something like...like _that_ is beyond my limits at the moment. I need practice and time to prepare.”

“Unfortunately, Warlock, time is something you do not have.”

That was it—Arthur couldn’t take anymore.

“What the hell are you talking about?” he demanded.

“She wants me to create a portal,” Merlin explained. When Arthur gave him a look that relayed exactly how much he understood—which was nothing at all—he went on, raising his hands to demonstrate. “A link between one point in space and another that we can travel through.”

Arthur was incredulous. He’d managed to handle faeries, exotic vegetation, magic, talking dragons, and even cannibalistic queens that resembled his sister, but _this_ was the last straw. He could deal with changing sizes and bursts of flames and albino shape shifters, but not portals. _Not_ portals.

“No,” he said firmly, shaking his head, and really, enough was enough. He should’ve said something ages ago. “Things don’t work that way. You can’t just bend reality like that.”

He’d had more to say, but Merlin cut him off with his sudden laughter. Arthur blinked in surprise, eyeing him in bewilderment. It wasn’t just an offhand chuckle that had come from Merlin, but an actual belly laugh.

“Tell me, Arthur,” Merlin said, wiping tears from his glittering eyes, “what do you think reality is? Exactly?”

Arthur shrugged, thinking it really should have been obvious. “It’s things you can touch. You know, the physical world.”

Merlin pushed Arthur’s shoulder, smirking at him. Arthur stared back uncomprehending at first, but then he understood. Then he got it.

Without words, Merlin had sort of proved a point, hadn’t he? This world—Albion—couldn’t be real. Not in the same way the other world was real. And yet, Arthur had felt Merlin push him. He felt pain and hunger, excitement and worry.

What did that make the other world? Less or more real? True or false? Could he even trust the things he saw, felt, heard, smelled?

_Where the bloody fuck am I?!_

Arthur huffed. He’d had no luck trying to figure it out before and he didn’t expect he’d do much better this time around. _The train_ , he told himself, keeping his one certain goal in mind. _Just focus on the train._

“Still. Bloody portals,” Arthur snorted. “Would be nice if _some_ things made sense for a change.”

“That is where you fail to comprehend, my King,” the White Queen said patiently. “The sense is that nothing makes sense.”

Arthur opened his mouth to reply with the obvious response of ‘That doesn’t make any sense,’ but then he stopped. What had Merlin said in the clearing where he’d first seen him?

_What does sense have to do with anything?_

“Alright,” Arthur said instead. “What about this portal? How does it work?”

The Queen smiled, looking fondly at Merlin. “At the height of his power, the Warlock could create portals anywhere. He could teleport on a whim.”

Arthur looked to Merlin, raising a brow. Merlin nodded, smiling a bit sadly.

The Queen continued. “It wouldn’t do any good to teleport to the train now; the Warlock needs his knight and two people cannot teleport together. A portal is what you need. You will have to use a mirror.”

Arthur frowned. What good would a mirror do?

“Um—”

“It’s difficult to create a portal out of thin air,” Merlin explained before Arthur could finish asking. “It’s like tearing the seams of the universe and opening a wormhole. It’s much easier to use something that’s already there.”

“Something like a mirror?”

Merlin nodded. “A mirror is already a kind of door. It reflects the world but isn’t the world. Adding magic to it is like sliding back the glass and opening it, making it a portal.”

“Oh, naturally.”

Merlin sighed. “And though it _is_ easier to create a portal from a mirror, that doesn’t mean I can do it. I...I need more practice.”

It was the Queen’s thoughtful hum that made Arthur look up. She was staring down into the garden below, her long eyelashes sweeping gracefully through the air as she blinked. Partially to see what she was looking at, and partially to avoid his gaze dropping lower, Arthur followed the direction of her eyes.

The garden was lit with lanterns, small translucent boxes that hung suspended in the air above. It couldn’t have been Merlin’s magic making them hover; perhaps it was faerie magic. The faeries too gave off a bit of illumination, glowing as they flitted around. Some trails of light moved slowly and lazily about the garden, while others darted from place to place. It made the air seem to come alive.

There were people in the garden as well, of course. As the serving girls had said, the whole castle seemed to be in a constant state of celebration—though in celebration of what, Arthur wasn’t sure. He could see some of them down there doing a sort of weird swaying motion, laughing and dancing as though they hadn’t a care in the world.

Did they know about the train? Arthur wondered. Were they really so ignorant, absorbed in the perpetual party of the castle, or did they just not care?

When Arthur looked back at the Queen, he found her staring at him intently. There was a firmness in her eyes that reminded Arthur of the quiet strength he’d at first seen in her, a deep, knowledgeable power that Arthur couldn’t explain—her eyes simply seemed endless, omniscient.

Arthur only remembered to exhale when the lack of oxygen became uncomfortable.

The Queen’s eyes flicked to Merlin suddenly, and she smiled. Arthur breathed much easier, feeling as though he’d been released from a hypnotic trance.

“I know just what you need,” she declared.

~ ~ ~

At first, Arthur wondered what people would think of the Queen walking what might as well have been naked among them. But then he figured that they were probably used to the sight—at least, it seemed that way when she so boldly walked through the corridors and nobody did anything except bow respectfully to her.

Once they were outside, however, the bowing became less frequent. Some would simply smile, while others embraced her in a hug. She responded to both equally, returning the smile or the hug, or even, in a couple circumstances, the kiss.

In the garden, Arthur saw that it wasn’t with carefree ignorance people were swaying about and dancing. He wasn’t sure what it was exactly, not at first, not until he saw the lioness who’d been cheating at chess with Lord William take a bite of a large mushroom. Then it became clear.

“Uh, Merlin,” Arthur muttered to Merlin beside him. “Are you sure about this?”

Merlin tilted his head at the question. “About what?”

Arthur glanced around nervously. “I’m just, er, not exactly certain how I feel about—”

He jumped when a squealing girl in a yellow dress rushed past, chased by another laughing girl. Arthur felt the fabric brush his skin as it billowed in the wind, and ended up nearly right up against Merlin from his startled movement.

“How you feel about what?” Merlin asked.

Arthur flinched again, backwards this time, when he realised how close Merlin’s voice was to his ear. Merlin was smirking at him, eyes alight with amusement, and it really wasn’t the proper time to think about how full Merlin’s lips looked at that moment.

“About...” Arthur gestured around at the chaos. “You know. Have you ever...?”

Merlin shrugged. “A few times. It’s a—Whoa!”

Arthur’s eyes followed the path of Merlin’s hands upward, and saw that it was faeries who had caused Merlin’s outburst, two of them having placed a crown of flowers on Merlin’s head. They giggled delightedly as they tugged it further down toward Merlin’s ears.

“Purple suits you, Mad Warlock,” one of them sang.

The other slapped her playfully on the arm. “That’s not purple, you idiot, that’s blue! Don’t you know midnight orchids when you see them?”

“Well they look purple to me!”

Merlin laughed, getting their attention again. “Whatever they are, thank you. Though I think the King needs one as well.”

Arthur put his hands up and shook his head. “No, that’s quite alright, I’m really quite alright, thanks.”

“Oh, but we could never forget the King!” the one who’d slapped the other exclaimed. She grinned and pointed one of her tiny fingers at something behind Arthur.

Arthur spun around, and his stomach sank when he saw the two faeries flying toward him with a crown of ivy. He put his hands up again, but it would’ve been rude to swat them away when they’d come bearing a gift. He could only sigh in resignation as Merlin watched with a smile as they placed it upon his head.

“It looks good on you,” Merlin said.

Arthur looked up at him. Merlin’s smile had changed; in fact, Arthur didn’t think he’d ever seen Merlin give him this sort of smile before. It was soft and fond and almost as if he was...flirting.

Arthur’s hand was taken suddenly in another’s, and Arthur started until he realised it was the Queen’s. She looked at each of them in amusement and dragged them along, a few steps back until they reached a cluster of mushrooms nearby.

The one she picked was speckled blue and green, and didn’t look any more appetising than the others scattered across the darkest parts of the garden. She brushed it off and held it up between them, grinning encouragingly.

It was large enough for each of them to take a bite, maybe two if the portions were small, but Arthur still wasn’t convinced this was the best idea. He looked at the group of creatures next them, petting the grass as if it was the softest texture in the world.

Merlin, however, looked perfectly willing.

“What will this do exactly?” Arthur asked.

“This is what the Warlock needs,” the White Queen replied patiently. “It’s what you both need.”

“Why? How will this help us?” He turned to Merlin. “Merlin, this is just a waste of time.”

“If this was a waste of time, I would not suggest it,” the Queen answered Arthur firmly, holding his gaze.

“It’s fine,” Merlin said, getting Arthur’s attention again. “We can trust her judgement. I don’t know what she expects to happen, but if this is what she says we should do, then we should do it.”

Arthur sighed. Merlin was only eager to follow her advice for one reason, and Arthur wished like hell that that reason didn’t exist. But as far as Arthur could tell, they were still playing by Merlin’s rules, since Merlin knew how things worked here.

“Fine.”

The White Queen’s smile broadened as she raised the mushroom a little higher, up to their mouths. Leaning forward, Arthur licked his lips and took a deep breath.

It was dry and fuzzy and earthy and it felt wrong the whole time Arthur sunk his teeth into it. When he pulled it into his mouth with his tongue, he couldn’t help but scrunch his face up at the taste. It was utterly disgusting.

Merlin did what Arthur should have done and took his bite quickly, chewing it further back in his mouth. Arthur sighed when he saw that there was still enough left for each of them, and that the Queen was holding it up expectantly.

Arthur began leaning forward again, just as Merlin moved to do the same. He nearly stopped and pulled back, because it was obvious Merlin meant to take his bite first, but then he felt a hand on the back of his head pushing him forward, and the next thing he knew his portion of the mushroom was stuffed into his mouth and his lips were pressed against Merlin’s.

Merlin’s eyes widened at the same time Arthur’s did. As both their mouths closed together, Arthur could see clearly the golden swirl in Merlin’s eyes indicating magic, and though he didn’t know what spell had been cast, or if Merlin even meant to do any magic at all, he did hear the sound of the Queen’s tinkling laughter.

“There. Now you see, Warlock,” she said as she took both of their hands and clasped them together. “’Tis love that makes the world go round.”

Arthur heard her words from far away, unable to focus on them. As soon as he and Merlin separated, there were colours everywhere, rainbows exploding out of the hovering lanterns above them, and it made Merlin look more beautiful than ever. The light danced across Merlin’s face and the world started to throb, as though it were pulsing in time with his heartbeat.

Arthur looked down at his hands, the part of his body which he could see and feel was touching Merlin, but which he felt disconnected from at the same time. When he looked back up at Merlin, he saw Merlin smiling at him.

The midnight orchid crown seemed to be melting into Merlin’s hair, becoming part of his head, but then Arthur blinked and it was solid again. His gaze fell to Merlin’s lips and he was mesmerised by them, how pink and plump they were, like two perfectly lush rose petals, and because he couldn’t find a reason why he shouldn’t, he leaned forward to kiss Merlin again.

It was different from before, now that it was with purpose. Arthur’s mind seemed clear, like he’d been living in a world of fog before and now he was in one of crystal clarity. It made the kiss so much more of everything—more vibrant, more intoxicating, more full of energy.

He wondered if Merlin felt the same. When they separated again, and Arthur saw the golden swirl of magic once more, he realised that Merlin did indeed feel exactly the same.

Merlin smiled, and suddenly there was a crack of thunder. It was as if the heavens opened up, and rain began pouring down from the sky in heavy drops. Arthur looked around, confused, but Merlin just looked up and giggled.

“Sorry,” Merlin said. “I didn’t mean to. It sort of just happened.”

Arthur looked back at Merlin, then down at their hands. They were getting wetter by the second, giving their skin a glistening sheen.

“It’s okay,” Arthur said, raising his eyes again. “I like the rain.”

Merlin reached up to Arthur’s head, and Arthur was confused until Merlin pulled away the crown of ivy, dropping it to the ground.

“It’s all wet and soggy now,” he explained.

Arthur did the same for Merlin, removing Merlin’s crown of orchids and letting it fall next to the ivy. Merlin’s hair looked black as a raven when it was soaked and plastered to his head, conforming to the shape of his skull.

Arthur was so occupied cataloguing the sharpness of Merlin’s features in the rain that it startled him when he suddenly felt a foreign warmth on his chest. He looked down and saw Merlin’s hands over his shirt, and realised that he was drenched as well, wet enough that his top clung to his skin and made his pebbled nipples show through.

Arthur never liked the feeling of wet clothing. It was restrictive, a burden, like he was wearing a strange separate skin over his own. It was much easier to take off his shirt and let that fall to ground as well.

It seemed to start a pattern. Arthur had forgotten about the others in the garden, but remembered when he heard a chorus of cheers. Merlin laughed as he removed his waistcoat and top, and the sounds of his low chuckling appeared to dance together as Arthur watched. It was as though he could see the sounds in the air above, the colours whirling together and getting tangled in the rain.

 _How are the lanterns still lit?_ he wondered. _Even now, they’re just hovering there, unaffected by the rain._

But then Arthur remembered that it was magic. Of course the downpour wouldn’t affect it.

He started giggling as much as Merlin, his own noise rising up to join the others. As he laughed, the lanterns became more and more spherical, as though fleshing themselves out. Arthur stopped laughing and simply watched in wonder.

They became perfectly round white balls. Then, ever so slowly, smaller points seemed to emerge from the centre, and then another, expanding on the surface until at last they resembled eyes. Arthur stared up in awe at the floating spheres, the eyeballs glowing with light from an unknown source.

It only became more strange shortly after. The eyes started sprouting hair, growing fur of all things, and it was ridiculous, so ridiculous that Arthur _had_ to point it out to Merlin. He raised his arm, pointing up to get Merlin’s attention.

When he lowered his eyes to look for Merlin, however, Merlin was gone. There was no one, not Merlin, not the White Queen, not a single party guest. Arthur was completely alone, standing in a garden of flowers that stood taller than himself.

Had he been walking? He didn’t remember moving, but perhaps he’d done so unintentionally? Looking around, the world was still throbbing, every outline of every shape seeming to swim across his vision with bright trails of colour. He tried to concentrate on one thing, choosing a flower at random, a tiger-lily and attempted to bring it into focus.

Arthur cried out when he realised the lily was staring back at him. He looked to another to make sure it wasn’t just the one, but the daisy had a face as well. They all did—every flower arched over him, nodding and peering down, their pale eyes latched onto him as their mouths moved in unison.

After the first initial shock, it didn’t seem like they meant to hurt him. There was no antagonism in their expressions; it was more lackadaisical and wistful than anything else. Some seemed almost happy, while others were apathetic, but none were decidedly negative.

Arthur tried to calm his breathing as he dared to take a step closer and hear what they were saying.

“ _Like swarming angels, stars rain down._  
 _Like fluttering, hovering, angry souls._  
 _Tell me, you who wears the crown,_  
 _What truth does this fiery nebula hold?_  
 _A fine idea to take a pill,_  
 _Impregnate your mind for a star burst of colour,_  
 _A better idea to take them all,_  
 _Like fireworks in a black hole, we explode, we sputter._ ”

“Impregnate your mind, eh?”

Arthur spun around, searching for the male voice that wasn’t his own but that did sound rather close.

“Wonder how that works,” the voice continued. “One could say it’s a...a mind fuck. Do you get it? Your mind has been fucked. And impregnated!” There was a pause before the voice sighed. “That’s a joke. I wish _you_ had made it.”

Arthur looked around again, but still saw only flowers. He didn’t see the man anywhere.

Perhaps it wasn’t a man. Perhaps it was one of those odd half man half creature things. As Arthur pondered it more, he wasn’t sure why he thought it was a man in the first place. He was used to associating a deep voice with a man, but he supposed it could just as well be a woman, couldn’t it? What made him jump to such a conclusion?

Arthur started walking again, making his way forward through the path of flowers arching overhead. But his trousers had gotten soaked, sticking to his legs in that uncomfortable way. He stopped and looked down at them miserably, until finally he decided it’d be best just to take them off.

He doubted anyone would care anyway, considering the Queen was also walking about in what was practically all her naked glory. As Arthur pulled off his boots and cast aside the dripping garment, he found it actually quite nice this way—rather liberating. He liked the feeling of rain on his skin, and it was as though he could sense every individual rain drop sliding down his body as he walked among the flowers again.

He hadn’t been walking long before he wondered if he should have been paying attention to where he was going. Why was he walking again?

Oh. Merlin. Of course.

It was lucky that one of the flowers nearby began slowly morphing into a more human shape. Arthur watched and waited as the petals withdrew and the leaves hanging off the stem turned into extremities, until finally a woman just as naked as himself stood before him.

“Excuse me,” Arthur began, walking closer, “have you see the Warlock?”

She blinked her clear blue eyes once and stared at him blankly. Arthur attempted to smile encouragingly, but then she started turning back into a flower.

“No don’t!” he exclaimed, reaching out for her. “I need to know where to find him!”

It was too late. Already her arms had darkened to a more green hue, and her nose was sinking back into her face. She went from human to daffodil much faster than the reverse.

Arthur sighed and tugged on one of the leaves. “If you could please be human again so that I might talk to you, that’d be lovely,” he said.

Arthur jumped back when the towering flower responded in a clear voice, “Why must I be human to talk to you?”

Arthur racked his brain. He wasn’t sure.

“Because...Only humans can talk? I think...”

Though he’d seen dragons and animals talk by this point, and just further back there _were_ flowers singing, so Arthur supposed she had a point.

“Have you seen the Warlock?” he asked again.

“Gone into the maze, I think,” she replied, pointing a leaf to the right.

Arthur looked to his right and saw that there was indeed an entrance to what appeared to be a maze a bit farther down. There were other people milling about the area as well, some as nude as him and others wearing things Arthur couldn’t make out from so far away.

Had the maze always been at the end of the path? Surely Arthur would have seen it before. Perhaps he only hadn’t seen it because he hadn’t been looking for it.

“Thank you,” he said, turning back to the flower.

The light around her petals shimmered and glowed, the edges seeming to turn a deep purple before melting back to yellow, and Arthur lost himself watching with fascination.

“Well, what is it?” she demanded.

“You...”

“Yes?”

“Nothing. Only you’re quite a beautiful daffodil.”

“Oh, yes, I know that,” she said happily, swaying in the wind.

“Do you know any songs like the other flowers?”

“I’m not at all like any of those _other_ flowers,” she assured him quickly. “But I do know a bit of something.”

She cleared her nonexistent throat and seemed to grow taller, stretching her stem straight and high.

“ _This pulsing heaven, this galaxy sphere,_  
 _This ghost planet, this dandelion blaze,_  
 _We expel neon and bleed sun rays here,_  
 _Magical mayhem in the vibrating haze._  
 _The soul is but a human map,_  
 _Suicide under the rainbow, make a wish!_  
 _We are heart-shaped heroin, a rusty trap,_  
 _Swinging stars in the moonlit dance of dead fish._ ”

“Bleeding sun rays and dancing fish...Ha! This dandelion has certainly been blazing _something_.”

Arthur whipped his head back and forth, looking for the voice. There it was again!

“That’s a joke,” it went on. “You should’ve made it.”

Arthur frowned and spun around completely, searching once more. No one was there.

Was it one of the flowers? Or maybe one of the mushrooms? But those were both firmly planted in the ground, and couldn’t have followed him from the last time he heard the voice. Unless they shifted like the woman did.

Arthur was getting frustrated. It wasn’t just the fact that the seemingly disembodied voice existed, it was also the fact that it was so bloody annoying!

“I beg your pardon!” the daffodil protested angrily. “I am _not_ a dandelion, I am a daffodil. Dandelions are _weeds_ , whereas I am the most beautiful flower of all.”

“And the most narcissistic,” the voice muttered close to Arthur’s ear. “That’s another joke. I wish _you_ had made it.”

“If you’re not going to show yourself, then quit talking about jokes and go away!” Arthur yelled.

He didn’t like being messed with, not one bit. It was bad enough that he had no idea where he was, when he was, what he was, didn’t know anything for certain really, and now he had to be hearing voices on top of it? He just wanted to find Merlin.

Merlin, whom he’d kissed. Twice.

Arthur started off in the direction of the maze, following the path to the entrance then walking under the white archway inside. He tried to focus, not to get too distracted by the pulsing and glowing of the world around him, but it became increasingly more difficult with each thing he passed.

There were people running naked, leaving ghostly trails across his vision. Others were simply laughing and chasing butterflies whose wings changed colour with every graceful flap. They flapped so quickly that it appeared to be a constantly shifting rainbow, one hue sliding effortlessly into the next in a continuous cycle.

Arthur passed them, delving deeper into the maze. All the walls looked the same for the most part, save where a dirt stain marked the white stone or an edge was chipped at a turn. Arthur had no idea if he’d already been down one aisle or another, and it was only the occasional oddity he passed (which he wasn’t sure were hallucinations or not) that kept him on track.

Down one passageway, Arthur was certain he saw a turtle his height standing on two legs wearing a waistcoat. It wasn’t doing anything but standing there, staring straight forward at the wall which it stood opposite, and Arthur hurried past, not wanting to linger.

At the corner of another, Arthur ran into a man with a lion’s head who was on his knees, fucking a man from behind—though whether he was wearing a lion’s head or actually _had_ a lion’s head, Arthur couldn’t tell. The man on the receiving end seemed to be normal enough, all human with all the expected appendages (and was even moaning rather lewdly), but he was wearing what appeared to be an orange skirt, the fabric bunched up over his hips to bare his arse.

Orange! What a terrible colour.

When Arthur came to a vortex where five paths met at a central junction, he had to finally admit he was lost. There was a large fountain in the centre though, and a few faeries were taking shelter from the rain under the second tier. Arthur could see their small, shimmering shadows through the cascade.

He walked forward, hoping they’d be the more friendly sort of castle faeries and would help him. If he was lucky, they’d be able to lead him, since they _could_ fly above and navigate through the maze with more ease than he could.

“Have any of you seen which way the Warlock went?” Arthur asked them.

“Yes.”

“I have!”

“Oh, yes, we’ve seen the Mad Warlock.”

“Could perhaps one of you show me?”

“Has it stopped raining?” one of them asked.

Arthur looked up at the sky, then down at where droplets were falling into the pool of the fountain.

“It’s drizzling a bit,” he said.

They all came darting out through the cascade, flying above Arthur’s head then shaking their wings off. All but one, a girl with lavender hair and a green dress, stayed with Arthur.

“This way, King Arthur, this way!” she exclaimed, tugging a lock of his hair.

Arthur tried to keep her in focus, to follow the pulsing glow of light above his head and pay attention to nothing else as she lead him through the maze. She moved ahead so quickly for something so small, and Arthur struggled to keep up at times.

The maze came to an end abruptly; Arthur turned a corner and suddenly there was nothing but a path of flowers similar to the one before the entrance. And Merlin was there, standing naked among the flowers like a prize waiting for him to claim. His back was to Arthur, but Arthur would know the curve of that spine, the breadth of those shoulders—and of course those ears—anywhere.

The rain picked up again, causing the faerie to flee and hide in one of the taller tulips. Merlin seemed to be looking down at something with interest, and as Arthur watched, it was like he was seeing Merlin for the first time, majestic and perfect, and he couldn’t look away. He stared at the quivering contours of Merlin’s body, completely mesmerised.

 

 

Arthur didn’t know where the singing came from this time. He wondered which flower it was now, because he didn’t see any with faces in this part of the garden.

“ _Do you hear the piercing, penetrating light?_  
 _Do you taste the glistening, sparkling tears?_  
 _Search the dark which is rotating right,_  
 _The purple orb of flame that erupts by your ears._  
 _The air is on fire! The stars seem to fade._  
 _In baubles of death, the black smoke roams._  
 _Men catch love like it’s a disease,_  
 _May we stay lost on our way home._ ”

Surprisingly, there was no voice to make a joke this time either. But Merlin did suddenly look back over his shoulder at Arthur, making Arthur’s heart stutter when he smiled. He waved then, a bit ridiculously, and it made Arthur feel something bright, something his mind immediately called warm happiness even though that didn’t make any sense.

But then, he sort of didn’t care if it made sense, because _he_ understood it—Merlin made him feel happy-warm-high-bright, and that was all that mattered.

Merlin turned and ran farther down the path, and Arthur could do nothing but try to keep up, wondering where Merlin was going. They didn’t go far, just past the edge of the garden into a field of violets.

These flowers were the largest of all. They were splayed out across the ground, leaving barely any room to walk between the overlapping purple petals. Arthur could lay down and sleep in one if he wanted to, as if he were one of the faeries.

Merlin walked just past the edge of where the flowers began, deep enough in that he was surrounded on all sides. Arthur watched in wonder as Merlin bent over to pick up a large petal, dug his heels into the dirt, and yanked the petal out.

“He loves me,” Merlin said.

Arthur’s breath caught in his throat. Merlin dropped the plucked petal to the side, then bent to grab another. It seemed to take a lot of force because the flower was so large.

“He loves me not.”

“He loves me.”

Arthur walked closer, wondering how many were left. Only two.

“He loves me not.”

Arthur bent forward, grabbing hold of the other side of the petal Merlin had in his hands. Merlin looked up at him and laughed guiltily, then plucked the final petal out.

“He loves me.”

Arthur let the petal fall as he reached out to take hold of Merlin’s hand.

 _There, now I’ve got him,_ he thought triumphantly. The pulsing world seemed to swirl into focus, as if Merlin was anchoring him.

“You could’ve just asked me,” Arthur said.

Was he really slipping his arm around Merlin’s narrow waist and bringing him closer, or was he imagining it? He hoped he wasn’t imagining it. Either way, it felt nice, their wet skin coming together in the light rain.

“I was afraid I wouldn’t like the answer,” Merlin murmured into the curve of Arthur’s neck. “A faerie told me, but...I wasn’t sure.”

“So now that the flower’s said so, you believe it?”

Merlin chuckled. “Must be true if the flower says so.”

Arthur raised a hand and stroked Merlin’s face, brushing back damp strands of hair behind his ear. “I hardly know you, Merlin. I don’t really know anything about you...and yet—”

“You know enough.”

“Yeah,” Arthur sighed. “I know enough.”

They’d _gone_ through enough. Maybe they hadn’t spoken about what happened before Albion, and maybe they didn’t know about each other’s hobbies or family or favourite films, but they’d been through Albion together. Arthur had been there in the devastated wasteland of Mab’s forest when Merlin had been filled with sorrow, he’d been there in the Red Queen’s garden when Merlin had been overly nervous, and though Arthur could’ve reacted any number of ways to being caught up in this mess of an alternate reality, calling Merlin out on its sheer ridiculousness, he’d reacted by playing along. “Albion” had chosen Arthur as its King, and Arthur had agreed to fill the role.

Merlin was excitable, smiled with his entire face, often chattered on about nothing whenever there was a dull moment, spoke with his hands—his entire body, really—and could go from peacefully quiet to outrageously furious in less than a second when the right matter was at hand. He may have been quiet as a mouse in the real world, but here he was an energetic boy in a man’s body, and if that was the real Merlin, the Merlin that hid beneath the timid exterior, then Arthur wanted him to know that he was fine with it, that he liked it. Perhaps Arthur didn’t know about Merlin’s past, but based on what Arthur had seen of Merlin’s character so far, it was enough knowing about his present.

“I think I know enough, too,” Merlin whispered.

He looked up suddenly, staring at Arthur intensely, and Arthur got lost in his eyes, the flecks of blue swirling together and taking Arthur down a vortex.

“Arthur,” he breathed between them. “Do you know where you are?”

Arthur opened his mouth to reply with the automatic answer of ‘In Albion,’ but then stopped. Where was Albion? Where _was_ he?

Arthur looked down at their feet and wiggled his toes. “I’m not sure where, but I know I’m standing in a flower at the moment.” He looked back up and smiled, stroking Merlin’s cheek again. “I also know that I’m with you, and you’re with me.”

Arthur felt that strange happy-warm-high-bright feeling again when Merlin smiled back at him. Only there seemed to be an added element this time now that Merlin was here in his arms, a feeling that Arthur couldn’t pin down right away, something elusive and nearly unidentifiable.

 _Light_ , he thought, the description coming to him all at once. Not heavy, like his limbs weighed a tonne and gravity was holding him down, but light, giddy almost, like he could jump into the air and fly if he so chose. He could feel it in the tips of his fingers and in the centre of his chest, radiating out from him.

_Either I’m incredibly high from that mushroom, or I’ve just realised how completely in love I am._

The tendrils of colour rising from the tips of Merlin’s hair suggested it was probably a mix of both. Which was just as well—Arthur had never fancied such flowery descriptions for emotions anyway.

“You have a nice smile,” Merlin said. He raised a hand to cup Arthur’s face, and Arthur leaned into it instinctively. It felt so soothing, so warm, like Merlin’s hands were made for the curve of his cheek. “I liked it. When I first saw it.”

That was enough to make colours burst in the air behind Merlin’s head, enough to send Arthur’s vision zooming in and out of focus.

_The first time he saw me smile..._

Arthur’s heart clenched.

“I remember thinking...” Merlin lowered his eyes, licking his lips, and finally leaned forward, pressing a kiss to Arthur’s jaw. “I remember thinking I would die for that smile.”

“Merlin.”

It hurt to hear the words. It tugged on the lightness in Arthur’s chest like a spot of ink staining an otherwise pure page. Merlin may have thought Arthur wanted to hear this, that it was somehow a romantic confession.

It wasn’t.

“I’m glad it was you, Arthur,” Merlin continued, still kissing him. “So, so glad.”

“Merlin.”

Arthur couldn’t take anymore; he grabbed Merlin’s wrists and took a step back, forcing Merlin to look at him. Merlin’s eyes looked wild, with a mix of wariness.

“You would die for it?” Arthur asked, trying to concentrate.

“Yes, yes!”

Merlin stretched his neck out, making a lunge straight for Arthur’s lips, but Arthur took another step back, making Merlin groan.

“Would you live for it?”

Merlin froze, his expression utterly blank for a brief moment, but then his face twisted in pain, the agony in his eyes so clear that it physically hurt Arthur just to see it. It was there just as brief as the expression before it, though; Arthur had only just felt the tugging in his chest again when Merlin surged forward once more, managing to successfully capture Arthur’s mouth this time.

Arthur was, technically, stronger. He could pull Merlin’s hands away from his face and force their lips apart easily. The trouble was that Arthur didn’t have the willpower to do so now. Merlin’s mouth slotted perfectly in his, his lips pressing forward earnestly and parting just enough to suck and hint at what else he wanted. A step forward—aligning their hips and bringing their groins together—made that want all too clear.

“Merlin, answer my—”

“Fuck me,” Merlin said, dropping to his knees and pulling Arthur down with him.

“Wh-What?”

Merlin lay back on a violet petal, legs spread wide, and pulled Arthur closer again. Arthur had only seen that determined glint in his eyes when he’d been doing magic in the Red Queen’s garden.

And he’d _never_ seen Merlin’s cock, stiff and erect and flushed pink.

Merlin must have caught where Arthur’s gaze had drifted because he jerked his hips up sharply, once, to emphasise his demand. Arthur stifled a whimper at the sight of Merlin’s bobbing cock, his balls lifting up and falling from the upward momentum.

“Fuck me,” Merlin repeated in a whine. “Please, Arthur.”

Yes, yes, of course Arthur wanted to fuck him, and anything else that may have been of importance flew from his mind entirely. However, it was only after Arthur crawled forward between Merlin’s legs that he realised they were missing a vital component. The rosy bud of Merlin’s hole may have looked inviting, but even with the world still aflame with vibrant, spinning colours, and the rain helping to ease the way, Arthur knew it would be painful if he continued.

“There’s no...” Arthur finished his statement by rubbing the pad of a damp finger through the furrow of Merlin’s arse, making Merlin shudder.

In the dim light of the moon and lanterns above, Merlin’s glowing eyes were remarkably bright. They flashed a brilliant gold, and the glow seemed to linger even after Merlin’s eyes returned to their normal colour, wisps of it drifting in the air. Arthur was too busy watching it slowly fade into nothing to realise what Merlin had started doing beneath him.

“What are you...?”

Merlin was rubbing his arse against the petal of the flower, grinding down onto it as though _it_ were fucking him and not Arthur. Arthur wanted him to stop that instant, to get his only satisfaction from his cock and not whatever magic he’d done to allow the violet to give him pleasure.

Merlin’s hand grabbed Arthur’s wrist and brought it between his legs, pushing Arthur’s hand to the petal. It’d be a bit wet from the rain before but now it was nearly soaked, just in this one spot, as if—

Arthur gasped and looked closer. He pulled his hand away and raised the palm to his face, staring at the slick skin in awe. What had Merlin done to the flower?

“Use the violet, Arthur,” Merlin pleaded, wriggling again. “ _Arthur_.”

Arthur sprang into action. He shuffled forward a bit, hitching Merlin’s leg up for better access, and brought the slippery digits to Merlin’s arse. The grinding and rubbing had already helped a bit on the outside; it was only a matter of stretching and loosening Merlin’s hole a little to lessen the pain of entry now.

Arthur teased the puckered rim, focusing on nothing else but the increasing ease with which Merlin opened up for him, blossoming under his fingertips. He only had to reach down and vigorously rub the petal once before slowly sliding a freshly lubed finger in, stretching Merlin and making him keen in the process.

Arthur wasn’t sure what he’d just used on Merlin’s arse, but it was liquid and resembled lube close enough, so he didn’t think about it too much as he used it on his cock. Arthur didn’t know if violets had a smell—or maybe they did and it was just faint—but now the air smelled sweet, the way Arthur imagined a violet _would_ smell. And when he took a deep breath, leaning over Merlin and lining up to finally push in, it did seem to be the flower that the smell was coming from.

“Oh!”

Arthur didn’t stop, didn’t think he _could_ stop at this point, but did look up to make sure the expression on Merlin’s face was one of pleasure and not too much pain.

“Okay?” he asked breathlessly.

“Yes, yes, that’s...Oh _God_.”

Merlin gave up on words, his head lolling back as he gripped Arthur’s arms. Arthur was nearly speechless himself—Merlin was tight, incredibly, impossibly tight, moulding to the shape of his cock perfectly, and Arthur could only guess that Merlin was either a virgin or hadn’t done this in a while. Given the way Merlin was panting, like he _knew_ he ought to stay relaxed and calm but couldn’t quite manage it, it seemed to be the latter.

Arthur stopped when he was fully buried, mostly to let Merlin catch his breath, but also to find a more comfortable position. He couldn’t keep his weight held up on his hands forever, and had to shift his arms down, sliding them behind Merlin’s shoulders a little. He moved back a bit to put more weight on his knees, and dragged Merlin up over his thighs a bit with him.

Merlin was quiet now, his breath still coming in shaky gasps, but his eyes were glassy and far away as he stared up at the sky. He had his arms splayed outward, and he looked limp, almost lifeless if not for the clear rise and fall of his chest, or the warmth of his skin.

“Merlin?”

Merlin’s eyes closed as he sighed and ran a hand up Arthur’s chest. “Keep going,” he exhaled dreamily. “’M just...floaty,” he finished, chuckling.

Arthur felt a little floaty too, a little unattached from the earth, but Merlin kept him firmly rooted on the ground for the most part. He wet his lips before setting to the task at hand, pulling back slowly to give a gentle push forward, and felt himself come down a bit more.

He did it again, sliding in and out with a roll of his hips that he hoped made Merlin feel as good as him. Arthur only dared to speed up when Merlin whined and clenched around him, arching his spine and clutching the nearest petal. He seemed to open himself completely, blooming all at once with a desperate cry of pleasure and holding onto Arthur’s shoulder with nails that dug into his flesh.

 

 

Merlin started grunting as Arthur picked up the pace again, and his body rocked back and forth as Arthur went from smooth rolls of his hips to quick, forceful thrusts. Arthur was chasing the heat that was just beginning to coil in his groin and make his balls draw up, but he didn’t feel close yet. He felt like he could go at this tempo, fuck Merlin just like this, for hours. It was as though he were disconnected again, his physical self doing the fucking but his mind on an entirely different plane.

Merlin didn’t seem as disconnected anymore. In fact, he seemed more coherent than before as he moaned and gasped for breath. His voice sounded far away, even though he was as close as humanly possible.

“Oh—Oh Arthur—oh!”

Arthur slipped back into awareness, and it was as if he were feeling the sensations for the first time. He started pumping faster, harder, thrusting his hips sharply to shove inside as deep as he could.

“Ah, ahfuck, _fu-u-uck_ , A-Arthur—”

With a quick glance up at Merlin’s eyes, Arthur saw they were no longer closed. Instead, they were staring down at the frantic movement taking place between his legs, his eyebrows slanted up in a debauched expression that made Arthur nearly come just seeing it.

But it wasn’t Merlin’s face that finished him—it was the sight of Merlin desperately stroking his cock, his hand tensed tight enough to raise the tendons under his skin. It was so hot, so fucking beautiful, as perfect as everything else Merlin did, and it took Arthur’s breath away as he came.

Even more beautiful was the delicate shape of Merlin’s mouth, the graceful arch of his spine, the nearly inaudible, almost surprised huff of air that escaped his lips as he squeezed his eyes shut and climaxed just after.


	6. Everything Falling Down Around Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Now…let’s consider who it was that dreamed it all…He was part of my dream, of course—but then I was part of his dream, too!…Which do you think it was?” 
> 
> \- Lewis Carroll, _Through the Looking-Glass_

Arthur woke up slowly the next morning. The air smelled sweet and pleasant, like violets, and Arthur couldn’t help smiling when he felt the press of a warm body next to him.

Opening his eyes, Arthur couldn’t at first make sense of what he was seeing. There were shapes in the air above him, wisps of colour dancing around in some sort of unidentifiable pattern. After a moment of watching, however, Arthur knew, the same way he that Merlin was the body beside him without looking , that he was witnessing Merlin’s magic.

Arthur moved his right arm, settling it over the petal that was currently draped over their bodies like a blanket. Seeing that Arthur was awake, Merlin lifted his head from its place on Arthur’s shoulder and looked up at him, grinning brilliantly, obviously pleased with his creations.

“Good morning,” Arthur said, stretching.

He remembered the previous night as if it were a dream—the singing flowers, the maze of wonders, the sex. Everything else, specifics and the like, was a bit of a blur.

“Morning,” Merlin replied. “Watch this!”

Arthur returned his gaze upward, where the wisps of colour—which Arthur now saw resembled animals—began shifting into more humanoid shapes. They looked like blue and red translucent dolls, nearly solid but not completely, and the definition in them was stunning.

As soon as the blue one jumped up onto a cloudy table, gesturing for red one to follow, Arthur realised it was meant to be them. Arthur watched in delighted amusement as the red doll made its way up, standing next to the blue and looking in the direction of its pointed finger. Pointing at an invisible tower far off in the distance.

The image was gone quickly, bursting into purple smoke as the red and blue wisps collided. As it faded, a new image appeared, the red and blue dolls now walking in place side by side, but with their arms pinned to their bodies. Slowly, new shapes appeared, two black, shadowy spiders with equally dark riders. Arthur remembered the walk to the Red Queen’s castle behind those wretched things as well.

Next was them kneeling before the Red Queen, whose doll was a deep poisonous green where it sat on the throne. After that was Arthur crushing smaller grey dolls in the garden, with Merlin perched on his shoulder. Then it was the two of them leaning forward to take a bite of a mushroom, held up by the shimmering white doll. As soon as their lips touched, a burst of golden mist erupted around them, and out of the mist came the image of them fucking in the flower, the very flower they lay in now. Arthur was stilling blushing as it faded away.

Merlin looked up at Arthur triumphantly. “My magic feels fine now, all thanks to you,” he said. “I feel strong and powerful again, and I just know I could defeat the train.”

That was good news, but what did it mean exactly? Hadn’t the White Queen said that Merlin couldn’t defeat the train, but had to embrace it? And on top of that, Arthur wasn’t quite sure if they were still acknowledging their feelings for each other. Did last night mean a change in their relationship or were they back to what they’d been before?

Merlin answered one of Arthur’s questions when he sat up and kissed him softly.

“Thank you,” Merlin said, smiling at him. A hand slid into Arthur’s hair, cupping his face, and Arthur’s heart soared with happiness.

_Happy-warm-high-bright._

“I wish I’d known sex would have fixed everything earlier,” Arthur said.

“I wish I’d known you’d fancied me earlier.”

Arthur shrugged and gave Merlin a crooked grin. “Well, I didn’t fancy you the whole time. Attracted to you, sure, but the loving bit was more of a slow build.”

Merlin laughed as his fingers continued carding fondly through Arthur’s hair. It felt warm and nice and perfect. Arthur had never felt more content.

“It wasn’t like that for me,” Merlin replied. “I always fall too hard too fast. Like with—”

Merlin had cut himself off, but Arthur didn’t need him to finish to be able to piece together the rest of it.

_Like with the White Queen._

Merlin quickly went on though, brushing away the subject.

“I’d suspected from the moment you sat at my table in the clearing—”

“ _Your_ table? I thought the table was its own table and didn’t have an owner.”

“Oh, shut up,” Merlin said, burying his face into Arthur’s neck and giggling. “I’d suspected from the moment you sat at _the_ table that I could love you. But it wasn’t until you freed Excalibur that I thought perhaps I did. And after...”

Merlin paused, leaving Arthur to wonder just what it was that Merlin was tripping over. He tried to caress Merlin’s side as encouragingly as possible, and it seemed to work since Merlin continued soon after.

“I didn’t mean to freak out like that in the forest,” Merlin said in nearly a whisper. Arthur didn’t have to ask which forest. There’d only been one in which Merlin had ‘freaked out.’ “But after that, I became certain that I did. That I did love you, I mean.”

Arthur stroked Merlin’s cheek, and Merlin dared to look up. He looked vulnerable, his blue eyes wide and young and hopeful.

How could such a man ever want to kill himself?

“You’re mad,” Arthur said. “But I wouldn’t expect any less from the Mad Warlock.”

Merlin face’s transformed completely when he beamed up at him. Arthur felt like he could stare at Merlin forever.

He probably would’ve done just that if it hadn’t been for a high-pitched clearing of a throat. Arthur looked toward the sound and saw that it came from a faerie, a glowing girl with pink hair who’d landed on the petal-blanket.

“Sorry to interrupt,” she began politely, “but the White Queen sent me to fetch you both right away. She said you’re to come at once. Your Majesty,” she added hastily.

“What, no breakfast?” Arthur said.

Merlin snorted and rolled his eyes. “Does she expect us to go naked?”

“Oh, no, servants should be along shortly,” the faerie replied. She flew off without another word.

Sure enough, Arthur saw servants making their way toward their flower a few moments later.

And thank God, one of them was carrying a tray of food.

~ ~ ~

They were led to the White Queen’s throne room, a large hall that sparkled just as brilliantly as all the other marble rooms in the light of day. The Queen looked as gracefully elegant as ever, even draped so leisurely across the armrests of her formidable throne.

The servants had brought Excalibur and Arthur’s crown with them in readiness, and even Merlin had his usual hat once more atop his head. The only thing that Arthur was surprised to find present, was the bronze-red dragon curled up on a pocket of air to the right of the queen’s throne—Kilgharrah.

His large golden eyes seemed to shine brighter than the rest of him, as though his body was only partially solid, like the dolls Merlin had conjured earlier. When he grinned widely at Arthur, a shiver ran down Arthur’s spine.

On the other side of the throne was a mirror, wide and tall enough, Arthur noticed, to walk through. It stood on gleaming silver legs, and was encased in an ornate silver frame.

“I trust you feel suitably refreshed?” the White Queen asked with a smile. Her foot rose and fell in an idle bobbing motion off the side of the throne, a sparkling silver anklet dancing as she moved.

“Yes,” Merlin said firmly.

“You are ready to confront the truth? To embrace it?” she continued.

Merlin took Arthur’s hand and nodded confidently, squaring his shoulders. Arthur felt a swell of pride bloom in his chest.

“I’m ready.”

The White Queen’s smile seemed to shift to one more pleased, and Arthur couldn’t help but think she was glad everything had gone according to plan.

“Good. There isn’t much time,” she said. “And you, King, are you ready to do what is necessary?”

Arthur nodded. “Since the beginning.”

A single brow rose in what Arthur wouldn’t exactly call amusement, but was definitely something close, and she gestured toward the mirror. After a deep breath, Merlin began to approach, pulling Arthur along with him.

“Arthur.”

Arthur halted at the call, and let his hand slide from Merlin’s to turn and look back. It was Kilgharrah who’d said his name, and was now waiting for Arthur to come to him.

Arthur walked over, wondering what on earth the dragon could have to tell him now, and hoping for his own sake that he’d be able to understand it, just this once.

“Yes?”

Kilgharrah tail swished through the air behind him, and his eyes narrowed as he stared at Arthur closely. “Only a few find the way. Some don’t recognise it when they do. Some...” His eyes shifted to the right, and Arthur followed his gaze to where Merlin was standing by the mirror waiting expectantly. “Some don’t ever want to,” the dragon finished.

Arthur didn’t understand, but then, he’d never understood anything Kilgharrah said to him. What ‘way’ was he talking about, and why did he seem to think Merlin wouldn’t want to find it?

“Do you know what will happen once we board the train?” Arthur asked.

Kilgharrah’s eyes turned a cloudy yellow, losing their almost malignant shine. Arthur could barely hear his words, and it was no surprise that Kilgharrah began disappearing as he spoke.

“Their condition seems to worsen dramatically when we separate them, so we’ve kept them in the same room for now...”

And then he was gone.

Arthur sighed and turned back to walk to Merlin.

“What did he say?” Merlin asked, tilting his head curiously.

“Something cryptic as usual.” Arthur took Merlin’s hand again. “Let’s go then.”

Merlin took another deep breath and raised his free hand in front of the mirror. Arthur stared at the reflection in the glass and watched as Merlin’s eyes flashed. When Merlin touched the mirror, the surface rippled, and slowly but surely an image of a train faded into view. It looked like the inside of any regular carriage of the Underground, only completely empty.

Merlin seemed similarly confused. He frowned, and said, “That can’t be right. That’s...”

“Only one way to find out,” Arthur said.

Merlin looked uncertain, but swallowed and nodded as he squeezed Arthur’s hand. “Alright.”

Arthur reached out hesitantly, slowly sliding his hand through the portal first. It felt like dipping into a warm pool, though he didn’t _feel_ wet.

Giving Merlin one last encouraging smile, Arthur stepped the rest of the way inside, pulling Merlin with him.

~ ~ ~

For a moment, Arthur really believed he was back in London on the tube. But next to him, Merlin still wore that ridiculous hat, so that couldn’t be the case. And though the inside of the carriage was the same, the landscape outside the windows was most definitely Albion.

The first carriage—or at least the carriage that the portal had dropped them in—was empty. Arthur looked left first, past Merlin to the other end, and saw nothing. Looking right, he saw the distinct shape of passengers farther down, and began walking toward them, taking Merlin with him.

When he was finally close enough to make out their features, it only took him a few second realise who they were.

It was _everyone_.

The first Arthur wasn’t immediately sure about, because he’d only seen the man twice. But it was definitely Lord William of the Wilddeoren sitting in the seat closest to them. He didn’t look quite as mousy, and he seemed to have more acne, but it was most decidedly him.

“Merlin—”

A gasp cut Arthur off, and Arthur turned his head just in time to see a hand cover Merlin’s mouth. Merlin eyes were wide with shock, and after following Merlin’s gaze, Arthur saw why.

It was the White Queen who was sitting across from William. Her hair wasn’t quite as long, or even as thick, and her skin certainly didn’t glow or make her appearance seem otherwise angelic, but she was still beautiful. The angled curve of her jaw, and the soft firmness of her grace was just as admirable as ever.

Merlin’s hand left Arthur’s as he stepped forward, leaving Arthur bereft. He waved in front of her face, snapped his fingers, did everything except touch her, and still she only sat motionless, staring forward unblinkingly like the rest.

“Freya?”

Merlin’s voice was quiet, tentative, and hoarse, as though his throat was tight with emotion. Was that her name then, her real name? Freya?

Merlin suddenly spun on his heel, crossing the carriage to William. “Will?”

He waved in front of him as well, and still nothing.

Which is when Arthur looked just a bit further down and saw his father, sister, and uncle.

He made his way down the carriage quickly, stopping just in front of them. His father and sister sat on one side with his uncle on the other.

He knew that saying their names, or even waving before them, would do nothing. It had done nothing for Merlin. But still, the sight of them, the way they normally looked and appeared, was enough to make Arthur’s heart clench in longing. He missed them. He didn’t want to leave them behind. He’d already had to kill them here in Albion. If he never saw them again...

Arthur didn’t want to to even think about it. He wasn’t ready.

“Stop it!”

The shout startled Arthur enough to make him jump and turn to Merlin. It seemed Merlin was past disbelief, and now onto anger.

“Stop it!” Merlin yelled again. “It’s—it’s a trick! I know it is. Well ha ha ha, so very funny! Now quit it and say something right now!”

Arthur didn’t know how to react. He’d never seen Merlin so angry, or heard him so loud.

He jumped back when Merlin started running down the carriage and barrelled past. Then he turned on his heels to follow.

“Merlin!”

Arthur had a feeling he knew where Merlin was going, that he was headed to the front to try and stop the train. But first they had to go through the next carriage.

When Merlin suddenly came to a halt, Arthur soon discovered why.

“Merlin...”

The carriage was empty, except for Arthur and Merlin. Or rather, _another_ Arthur and Merlin. One sitting across from the other.

The silent Arthur was in the usual clothes he wore to work, trousers and button-down top with a tie. But Arthur had never seen Merlin in the clothes his other self wore, jeans and a t-shirt. And he was even more surprised to see that Merlin’s hair was actually a bit shorter, cropped more closely on the sides and with less of a fringe in the front.

Had his hair been like that before? Arthur couldn’t remember. He hadn’t really looked, to be honest.

Merlin had been angry—Arthur might even say furious—but now he seemed more panicked, more distraught now that he’d seen himself just as motionless and unblinking as the other passengers. He continued to the front of the train, running faster than ever.

Arthur hurried behind him, following him straight to the front of the train where the controls were. Through the window, Arthur could see they were headed straight for the Andorian Mountains. Merlin must have noticed too, because he went from systematically pressing buttons and twisting switches to frantically touching _everything_.

“Merlin!”

“Argh!”

Arthur lurched forward as the train suddenly stopped, and it was only from the fading glow in the eyes of Merlin’s reflection that told him what had happened.

“There,” Merlin said, panting. “It’s done.”

They’d stopped just in front of the entrance to the tunnel, making the mountain look large and daunting. Down below, Arthur could just make out creatures that look decidedly like rodents crawling about the shadows.

But then he saw something else, something much more troubling. The landscape beneath them was starting to crumble, tendrils of decay reaching out from the train and sinking into the ground.

Merlin saw it, too. He pressed his hands against the glass and looked hopelessly down at it.

“IT’S DESTROYING MY ALBION!” He banged his fists on the glass hard enough that Arthur worried it might shatter.

Arthur realised then, knew at that moment exactly what was going on. It was as he’d somewhat suspected the whole time, that this world, this Albion, was of Merlin’s creating, and Arthur was simply a visitor.

That, and that the train did have a destination: the tunnel through the mountain, which undoubtedly led out of Albion. It hadn’t been flying around aimlessly, not at all. It had been searching for its passengers, for Merlin and Arthur, and now that they’d boarded, it was taking them out.

But why leave destruction in its wake? Did it serve a purpose or was it just a side effect? Why lay waste to everything in Albion, reducing it to nothing but dead—

Arthur gasped. “Oh God.”

_“Their condition seems to worsen dramatically...”_

_That’s it,_ Arthur thought. _That’s why there isn’t much time. Once everything is destroyed..._

“Merlin, start the train.”

Merlin turned to Arthur like he was mad. “You can’t be serious.”

Arthur grabbed Merlin’s shoulders, shaking him. “Start the train, or all of Albion will be ruined! We have to leave, we have to get out of here!”

“I’m not going anywhere!” Merlin shouted angrily. “I don’t want to leave!”

“Merlin, if we don’t go now, we’ll die. You have to start the train and save us.”

“Save us? From death?” Merlin shook his head and stepped back, and Arthur could see in his expression that it had just dawned on him as well. “Is that it? Is that why I’ve come here? I’m not afraid to die. In fact I welcome death!”

Arthur felt his heart skip and his throat tighten. He didn’t want Merlin to say that, couldn’t bear hearing Merlin say _anything_ like that.

He stepped closer and looked into Merlin’s glistening eyes, deep into the twin pools of blue. There was so much pain, so much anguish, and it tore Arthur up inside.

“Merlin,” Arthur began gently, “if you die, there won’t _be_ any more Albion. And what about me? I don’t want to die.”

Thankfully, Merlin seemed to soften at that, his pained anger shifting into pained sorrow.

“There’s nothing for me outside of Albion,” he said. “I’m worthless.”

“That’s not true.” Arthur cupped Merlin’s cheek, sliding the tips of his fingers into his hair. “I’ll be there for you. Please, Merlin, start the train, we don’t have much time.”

Merlin looked down at his crumbling Albion in despair, and Arthur raised his other hand to bring them face to face again. He stared at Merlin as earnestly as he could, and made his voice firm.

“I love Albion and I love you, Merlin. And as the King of Albion, I command you to _start this train_.”

A few strained seconds of staring passed, but then Merlin’s eyes flashed gold and the train suddenly lurched forward. The light was gone completely the moment they entered the tunnel, and Arthur felt arms wrap around him, holding on and clinging desperately.


	7. Another Day, A Different Dream, Perhaps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So she sat on, with closed eyes, and half believed herself in Wonderland, though she knew she had but to open them again, and all would change to dull reality.” 
> 
> \- Lewis Carroll, _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland_

Arthur awoke with a gasp. A gasp that sent pain shooting through his chest, and he knew instantly: his ribs were broken.

“Oh!”

Arthur turned his head—well, as much as he could, given the restrictive neck brace—and saw the source of the exclamation to be a young nurse, a woman with her light brown hair done up in a messy ponytail. Judging from the bandages in her hand, she’d been checking one of his wounds.

Arthur raised his left hand to his head, touching it tentatively. He winced when he felt the large bruise still there.

“What’s going—”

“Wait just a moment, I’ll get the doctor,” she said, stopping him with a finger.

“Okay...”

Arthur looked around the room after she left, first at all the instruments attached to him and then at himself, checking to see what he could move without too much pain. And next, at the person he was sharing a room with, a person who, even bandaged up and wearing various casts, he could tell was Merlin.

Looking at the heart monitor, Arthur saw that Merlin’s heartbeat was faint. Merlin’s left arm was in a cast, as well as his right leg, which was raised above the bed. He was so pale, his closed eyes seeming so sunken in, and just seeing him in such a state hurt Arthur worse than any of his physical injuries.

_Please wake up, Merlin, please, please, wake up._

_I wonder if we had the same weird dream..._

The doctor came in before Arthur could wonder too much. He looked much too old to be doing any good in the medical field, but when he spoke, he seemed lively enough.

“Good afternoon, Arthur, I’m Dr Kilgharrah. How are you feeling?”

“I’m...not bad? I hope...”

The doctor glanced at something at the foot of Arthur’s bed, then looked back up at Arthur with an encouraging smile. “Well enough for someone who took a fall like that.”

“What happened?”

“You just barely saved Mr Emrys’s life, that’s what happened. The two of you landed on top of a lorry and you took the brunt of the force in the fall. You’re both lucky not to be paralysed or dead.”

Arthur let out a sigh of relief. He knew he hadn’t been paralysed because he’d been able to feel everything—for the most part—but it was good to hear it confirmed.

“Now,” Dr Kilgharrah said, consulting a clipboard. “You’ve a few fractures in your right arm, a couple more in your ribs, a hairline fracture in one of your upper vertebrae, but like I said, you’re not paralysed, and there was only a slim, slim chance of that happening. That’s also why we put the neck brace on you, just in case...”

Arthur tuned out most of it, but was dimly aware of the doctor talking about treatment and recovery times. He was just so glad he and Merlin were alive. Unless...

“Is Merlin...Will he be alright then? Since I took the brunt of it?” Arthur asked, cutting Dr Kilgharrah off.

The doctor sighed, and that itself wasn’t a good sign. “The note inside your pocket was found when you were brought in,” he explained. “It’s very admirable what you did.”

“But?”

“But Mr Emrys was...severely depressed. It went untreated and seems to have affected his appetite. He was very malnourished.”

Arthur’s stomach sank. “So even though I—”

“We can’t be certain, mind—”

“Will he wake up? When will he wake up?”

Dr Kilgharrah frowned and looked toward Merlin’s bed. And did that subtle raise of an eyebrow indicate scepticism?

“Unfortunately, we can’t say for sure,” he said slowly. “We weren’t even sure _you_ would wake up. It’s all up to Merlin now. But back to treatment...”

Arthur didn’t listen to the rest of the doctor’s speech. He couldn’t focus on recovering when there was a possibility Merlin might never wake up. It wasn’t just the fact that everything he’d done to try and save Merlin would be for nought—it was also the weird dream he’d had, the time he may or may not have spent in Albion and realised how much he actually cared about Merlin. Even if it _was_ just a dream, it had felt real enough for Arthur to fall in love.

It’d felt real enough to hurt.

Dr Kilgharrah left, and Arthur didn’t know whether it was because he saw Arthur wasn’t really listening or if he’d finished speaking. Either way, Arthur was glad to be rid of him, free to turn his head as much as he could and look at Merlin freely.

It was stupid, and probably pointless, but Arthur tried to will Merlin to life, hoping their consciouses were somehow linked after all. Trying to call him back.

_Wake up, Merlin, come on, wake up, wake up. Don’t be dead, don’t you dare be dead, not after everything we’ve been through. Your king needs you, so just fucking wake up!_

Nothing happened.

Right then. Pointless.

Arthur started when Merlin suddenly gasped and jerked awake. It hurt his ribs—well, his everything, really—but he was so glad that it made the pain more than tolerable.

“Merlin,” he whispered in relief.

Merlin’s eyes darted around, probably doing the same inventory that Arthur had done when he’d first woken up. But then Merlin looked at him, stared at him with those large blue sunken eyes and Arthur had never been happier in his life.

“Arthur.”

Arthur stretched his left arm out, trying to reach. It hurt to move that much, but he ignored the pain, finding the need for touch more important at the moment.

Merlin reached for him as well, smiling when their hands finally found each other’s. Merlin’s heart monitor began to beep faster, and when Arthur saw the look of fondness in Merlin’s eyes, he knew for certain that he wasn’t the only one who still remembered the love they’d shared, that he wasn’t the only one who felt happy-warm-high-bright again.

“Show me your tower,” Arthur said.

Merlin’s smile widened. “Close your eyes.”

Arthur closed his eyes.

And he saw Albion.

~ ~ ~

It was just as it had been before, vibrant, teeming with life, and utterly wonderful. Looking down, Arthur saw he was once again in his blue shirt and brown trousers, Excalibur at his side and his crown resting on his head. Beside him, Merlin looked much healthier, and his hat sat perfectly on a head of dark curls. He grinned at Arthur brilliantly and took Arthur’s hand.

The door in front of them had some kind of mark on it, something Celtic and druidic with three swirling arms, and ivy grew up the sides of the tower in elaborate criss-cross patterns. Arthur began to walk forward, but Merlin suddenly pulled him back.

Arthur stopped and turned, and gaped when Merlin dropped to one knee, taking off his hat and bowing his head as he had for the White Queen.

“My king,” Merlin said, strong and clear. “Thank you for saving me. For saving Albion.”

Arthur knelt before him, holding Merlin’s face in his hands and tilting it up to look at him. He only stared at Merlin for a few seconds before leaning in and kissing him.

“I couldn’t have done it without my warlock.”

**Author's Note:**

> This fic takes bits and pieces of Alice in Wonderland adaptations and meshes together into one new plotline. All the Alice elements and quotations (as well as a fanmix) can be found at the livejournal masterpost [here](http://neuroticnick.livejournal.com/64854.html).


End file.
